A Study on Desperation
by TheGreenEyedIdiot
Summary: Draco is a prisoner in his own house, but a cheeky spell left by his ancestors might help him escape. After reluctantly defecting to the Light, he's left with nowhere to go but to the Order - more specifically, the Burrow. Unabashed eventual Drarry with sexy bits :D
1. Catalyst

**I know, I know, I'm doing the completely unforgivable and starting ANOTHER story when I still haven't updated, er, any of my other stories. Sorry. But this massive, rabid plot bunny appeared in my head and started attacking all my other inspiration... Sorry guys. So here it is, my first, slightly reluctant Drarry. Eventual fluffiness and lemons, but for now it's quite angsty. Please leave a review! They make my life worth living! **

**Not really.**

**But seriously. They do.**

**Love you all!**

**Xxx**

Draco let his eyes follow the curves of his sculpted ceiling. Again. He lay on his back, hands behind his head, fingers futilely attempting to relieve the ache of the severe mental and physical thrashing that his aunt had just given him.

_Good boy Draco, such a clever boy. You're going to make him so pleased. Crucio! _

Draco winced, Bellatrix's genuinely mental screams of joy as she cursed him ripped through him again as he remembered. He thought about moving to retrieve his cigarettes, but decided against it. Just like he had been taught to chose his battles (only ones you can't run away from!), Draco knew he had to chose the moments to move his aching body. The less movement the better, and then hopefully he'd be alright to walk down to dinner tonight.

Not that he had any particular choice in the matter, but it was always nice to pretend.

A shudder rippled through him at the thought of dining with the Dark Lord again. Bellatrix would doubtless regale them with stories about how _well _Draco was doing, and then she might offer to demonstrate, and his parents wouldn't say no. And all through the dinner Draco would be thinking about the fact that the Dark Lord wasn't wearing any shoes.

The thought of this caused a ripple of a laugh to shudder through his body, which reminded him of a few forgotten aches.

Bollocks.

It was more than just a desperation to escape, now. It was a need. He needed to escape, or he was going to die. The impenetrable shell of enchantments around Malfoy Manor that had once made him feel safe now trapped him. There was no chink in the collective armour of the imagination of his ancestors; they had imbued the very walls with spells. The house could tell your ambition, your political stance and your star sign, probably. Unsurprisingly, it didn't react very well to Draco any more.

Painfully, slowly, Draco got to his feet and took the few steps necessary to reach his desk, where his wand lay. It practically hummed with magic; he hadn't had much occasion to use it, fixated as his family were on him developing his wandless skills. Draco still preferred the feel of the wood beneath his fingers, though. It made him feel more powerful and therefore safer. His index finger found the tiny imperfection in the length and rested there, his thumb slid against the shiny grove that constant use had made in the handle.

"Master Draco! Your presence is required by Mrs Malfoy in the drawing room, when shall Sir be making his appearance?"

Draco turned to the tiny house elf, "Tell my mother that I will be down as soon as I am dressed."

The house elf bowed. "Of course, sir. Is sir needing anything else?"

An entirely unrelated thought had just struck Draco. He glanced absently at the elf to reply, "Er, nah. Thanks."

The elf bowed again and disappeared with a pop. Draco sat down quite abruptly in his desk chair. His summons to visit his mother.

Very _Malfoy_.

Something else that was very Malfoy- it had happened a few months ago... Something that was very, very Malfoy. Their house was their castle; no Malfoy blood would be spilled in this house. Well, unless they were a blood traitor, but then they were barely Malfoy any more. Complex enchantments lay around this house, some of which were nearly obsolete (for example one that prevented any Malfoy from taking orders in his own house, hah!) but also some that were still very much in operation. For example the one that immediately ejects from the house anyone who spills a drop of Malfoy blood. A fairly archaic way of preventing murder on their own soil; it is perfectly easy to die, or be tortured, without losing a drop of blood, but the intent was there. And that was what happened to James.

Draco had always known that his father was bizarrely good at dreaming up cruel and unusual methods of punishment. Even when not directed at him one only had to make the distasteful trip downstairs to the dungeon to see the evidence of this.

Homophobia can make people do terrible things.

For example, on walking in on his only son and a 6 foot, tan, strapping, 20 year old half-blood called James Alexander Graham (whom, incidentally, his son thought he might be in love with) having passionate sex, his reaction was not - as most it may have been for most fathers- to shout and kick the offending male out of the house. Lucius Malfoy had a creative mind.

James had been given a choice; either Lucius would kill Draco, or James must cut him - not a lot, mind you. Just spill a little of his blood. At the time the deal seemed ridiculous and hasty. But faced with such a lopsided opportunity James chose option two, conjured a small knife, and made a small, neat cut on Draco's forearm. Seasoned skin with few nerves, the gash deep but straight; it barely registered on Draco's considerable pain threshold. But as the first few slow drops of pure blood oozed out of the cut and James apologised softly, rubbing his thumb over Draco's hand, something happened. First, the clasped hands of the couple were blasted away from each other. Then, James screamed. Not just a scream; the long, familiar, drawn-out scream of torture.

And then he disappeared.

Draco shouted, begged his father to tell him what had happened. He pleaded with his mother, even tried to reason with the notoriously nutty Bellatrix. He threatened to tell the Dark Lord about the curious phenomenon. His father locked him in his room for 19 days for that one. Eventually, Draco was deemed stable enough to be let out. They let Bellatrix take him off to Wales for a bit to teach him some respect, and then his father finally told him. The magical ejector-seat, the safeguard of cowardly Malfoys who wanted insurance against better wizards than themselves. Obviously, his father couldn't tell him much about what was at the other end of the rabbit hole, but it did seem that any attempt to find out would be foolish and probably impossible. His father seemed of the opinion that wherever the magic took you, it was somewhere extremely painful, unpleasant, and probably full of muggles.

But now Draco _wondered. _Did the enchantment work on Malfoys who harmed other Malfoys? Probably, considering the level of inbreeding in his family. But who would it favour in a face off? Probably the higher-ranking Malfoy. So in relation to Draco, his father? His mother?

Could he ask this of his mother? Could he face his father in a duel? Because that was what it would come to.

No. He couldn't.

What about if he spilt his own blood?

Now that was a question; generations of Malfoys had lived in this house, was it really possible that none of them had ever deliberately hurt themselves?

Of course it was possible, Malfoys thought bleeding was beneath them. Far too muggle. And wasting all that lovely blood!

So.

Draco's hand shook as he opened the second drawer of his desk. Under a few rolls of parchment and a book on poisons, there was a small leather pouch with a knife in it. He glanced at the clock- five minutes since he'd been summoned. _Quickly, quickly. _He slid the knife out into his palm. It was small and simple, and very very sharp. James had wanted to cause as little pain as possible when he conjured this. Not wanting to waste any more time where a house elf could appear, he placed the tip of the knife directly along the pale scar where James had cut him. It wasn't necessarily sentimentality, he just didn't want to take any chances. Problems flashed before his eyes, where would he go? What if the magic got confused and something happened to him? What if nothing happened to him?

Draco decided that the answer to the third question concerned him more than that answer to the first two, and that he had absolutely no chance of getting past the wards any other way. Gripping his wand securely in his hand, Draco pushed down, hard.

This was not like last time, the droplets did not ooze. He pulled the knife back out of his arm and watched as the cut welled instantly; blood flowed freely from the cut and it ran in rivulets down his arm. He watched the path of the blood, fascinated, waiting. Something was happening to his vision, but he wasn't necessarily concerned. It almost reminded him of smoking weed with Blaise. And then the pain in his arm intensified, it intensified so that it took over all other sense data. He heard himself grunt with pain, ignorant of his surroundings until a bright light and cold wind alerted him to the fact that he was falling. He conjured a sloppily-executed air cushion to break his fall, and landed clumsily on his feet. In the Ministry of Magic. Draco almost laughed; the spell had obviously been put in place at a time when injuring a Malfoy was an offence worthy of Azkaban without trial. As it was, he was in front of the head Aurors' office, with a dozen curious Aurors peering over the tops of their cubicles at him. None of them looked especially friendly.

"Draco Malfoy." a deep voice from behind him seemed to want to do no more than pronounce his name; it neither confirmed nor questioned his presence. Turning with some trepidation, Draco was relieved to find a face that he vaguely recognised.

"Kingsley Shacklebolt."

Kingsley inclined his head, "Hello, Mr Malfoy. I'm afraid I'm going to treat your presence at the Ministry as suspicious." To Draco's great relief, Kingsley indicated with one large hand to the office door they stood in front of. "After you."

The Head Auror's office was large-ish and circular. It was slightly cooler than the room outside and a big window with a very convincing conjured view of London took over the main wall space directly opposite the door. Kingsley strode around his disproportionately small desk to sit in the simple chair behind it, and gestured to the similar chair on the other side. Draco wondered snidely if he'd brought in the desk and chairs from his old cubicle out on the main floor, then shook off the though. He was going to have to persuade this man - who undoubtedly hated him - to give him a hand. Gifted as most Malfoys are with words, Draco had not had much experience in the field; he was fairly used to getting what he wanted out of people because of, not in spite of, his surname.

He tried to relax.

"Mr Shacklebolt,", he paused, deciding which angle he was going to have to take. "I'm going to be honest. I need... Help." Even in these circumstances Draco loathed begging. Especially begging for help. Kingsley made no response, but raised one eyebrow, and gestured for Draco to continue.

And so Draco explained. Starting with James, briefly passing over his aunt, (the mention of whom Kingsley frowned at) and ending with his own quick decision in his bedroom.

Kingsley did not ask any questions until the end.

"Do you still have your wand?" Draco nodded, and held it out. Kingsley smiled. "It would be useful if you could provide me with some memories, I think they might sway the jury in your favour if you're hoping to be acquitted of the charge of willing Death Eater."

Notwithstanding the obvious 'willing' prefix, Draco immediately conjured three vials, siphoning out and placing memories of James - non-explicit as possible - his time in Wales, and his last minutes in Malfoy Manor into them.

Kingsley accepted the vials silently, and then asked to see the cut on his forearm. Draco had almost forgotten about his wound, and unthinkingly shoved his left arm out for inspection, remembering too late the mark on the other side of it. His neat cut was not neat any more; the edges were curiously dead-looking and burnt, and some apparently corrosive black substance was leaking out. Draco recoiled, but Kingsley looked interested. He reached out his hand to touch the arm - "May I?" - and gently turned it over. Draco sucked in his breath; it probably wasn't a good idea to go around flashing his dark mark if he wanted people to stop thinking he was a Death Eater.

But interestingly, his Dark Mark wasn't so Dark any more. It was more of a grey, and getting paler all the time. It no longer writhed against his skin, either; it was almost as though it's life force was being drained. Kingsley turned Draco's arm back over and examined the black substance that was oozing from the wound. It was a dark, malicious black, moving almost as though it were living. Kingsley conjured a vial and, without asking permission, scooped some of the liquid into it, plugging it with a cork quickly.

Draco was nearly unique in he hadn't passed out from the pain of receiving the tattoo. His father had been proud of that, Draco wasn't certain it was worth the praise to remember the pain. But at least he knew first hand that all the dark mark was made of was ink. Just like any tattoo. It made it easier to bear, somehow.

He pointed his wand at his arm shakily. "_Evanesco."_

The ink that had been mingling with his blood disappeared, though some still filtered through from the still-fading dark mark.

Kingsley sat back in his chair and studied the vial of ink in his hands. "Well, Mr Malfoy, I can certainly help you a bit. It's within my power to ensure you get a fair trial and a place to stay, but not much more than that."

Draco nodded curtly, and then remembered that he really needed to act more grateful. He looked at the carpet, and muttered "Thanks" shortly.

Kingsley continued as though he hadn't heard, which Draco was grateful for. "Considering your past I think a place to stay will probably be harder to come by, so we may have to go slightly... _off the books._"

Draco shrugged. "Fine by me. Anywhere's gonna be better than the Manor."

Kingsley looked grim. "Don't count your dragons, Mr. Malfoy." He stood. "Please excuse me, I'm going to make a call."

Draco nodded, and Kingsley turned and threw floo powder into the fireplace beside him. He dropped to his knees with more dignity than anyone Draco had ever seen. Even when all he could see of Kingsley was his headless body crouched beside the green fire, the image wasn't absurd as it undoubtedly would be if it was anyone else with their arse in the air. Kingsley withdrew and replaced his head twice more in the next twenty minutes. Draco was becoming increasingly bored and considered pick pocketing the Head Auror and legging it more than once. Wisely he decided that stealing from his one and only ally was probably not a good idea

When finally Kingsley withdrew and stood up, he looked satisfied but grim. He walked back behind his desk, but did not sit down.

"It has been decided-"

"By whom?" Draco interjected, feeling impetuous and annoyed that decisions about him were suddenly being made without his inclusion.

Kingsley blindly ignored the interruption. "-that you will stay at the home of the Weasley family for the duration."

Draco stared at the Head Auror. He couldn't- wouldn't- _surely_ he wasn't stupid enough...?

But evidently he was. The Order of the Phoenix. Fan-bloody-tastic.

He restrained his voice with some difficulty. "But Mr. Shacklebolt, you can't be serious. They _hate_ me. I hate them too, to be fair. You can't seriously expect me to go and live in their hovel, having to pander to them like I'm some sort of-"

Kingsley, again, ignored the outburst, merely continuing his monologue with slightly more force.

"They have offered to take you in for as long as necessary, but I have been told to inform you in no uncertain terms that if you exhibit any bigoted behaviour you will be, I quote: "out on your arse before you can say 'Quaffle'." You will be have minimum contact with the family until you are considered by the Weasleys and their friends as fully trustworthy. I'm sure you realise the significance of this; many of the Weasley family are members of the Order, as are their friends, and we will not allow safety to be compromised. Is all of that quite clear, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco was fuming. Literally fuming. Being told to go and live with blood trai- Weasleys, taking orders from someone whom he would, two hours ago, have probably attempted to kill on sight (_and failed,_ a small, honest part of Draco said), taking orders from a Weasley! Not being given any say in his allocation, in fact, decisions being made over his head generally - it made the part of him that was well and truly Malfoy seethe. And yet- he didn't have a choice. He had asked for help. What had he expected? Applause for defecting, an Order of Merlin and his own room in the Minister's country house?

Well, perhaps.

But this was what he had; a secret, cordial approval from a ministry official, a burning cut in his arm, and hopefully a mattress in the Weasley shack.

Well, at least things can't get any worse.

Surely.

**Let me know how you found it!**


	2. Theatre

**Aww you guysss, such a positive reaction to the first chapter! :3 You are all very lovely and inspirational and lovely. **

**Awesome.**

**So I decided to update really fast cos you all said you couldn't wait for more, and, well, I'm a massive pushover. Reviews make me so happy, I can't even explain it, so if you want Draco to masturbate in the next chapter (Yes! Yes! Yes!) you should review. This is not blackmail.**

**Enjoy :)**

**Love,**

**TheGreenEyedIdiot**

Draco stood at the end of a very long, very dusty country road - if you could call it a road. Draco tried to imagine his father in one of his ostentatious horseless carriages bumping along the track and sniggered. _Why_ his father insisted on the horseless carriages was utterly beyond Draco. Perhaps it was some kind of mid-life crisis.

For safety purposes, Draco had spent a night in the Ministry. To be more specific, he had spent the night in a magically-reinforced windowless room with a werewolf in the room next door and a 24-hour guard patrolling outside of his locked door. He felt both flattered and deeply pissed off that they thought he needed so much guarding, though Kingsley assured him it was to stop anyone getting _in_, rather than to prevent him from getting out.

It reminded him inextricably of home.

A grumpy, unnecessarily rough ministry guard had just disapparated, leaving Draco with strict instructions "Not t' go anywhere if yeh know what's good fer yeh."

Draco complied mainly on the grounds that he was waiting for Kingsley, who had his wand. Draco wondered if this was another of their 'safety measures' to 'prevent him from being attacked'. Probably. Maybe they thought that the Death Eaters wouldn't attack him if he didn't have a wand. Stupid, _bloody_ Gryffindors.

Draco pulled out a cigarette from the box he had happily discovered inside his robe pocket, and put it between his lips - realising too late that he usually lit up with his wand. He experimented for a bit with trying to conjure wandless flames, but he'd never been good at that and eventually gave up, putting the cigarette back just as Kingsley appeared with a pop about ten paces away. Draco sighed and put the same cigarette back between his lips. Kingsley strode over, greeted him, and proffered his own lit wand. Draco thanked him with a nod but didn't reply until four long drags had been exhaled.

"Mr. Shacklebolt," Draco nodded his greeting again. "Is this it then? This is the sanctuary for wounded Pure Bloods?" He gestured with a hand down the road and down a slight hill towards what looked like a precarious stack of building materials.

Kingsley, who had apparently decided to simply ignore Draco when he was being obnoxious, replied serenely. "This is The Burrow,"

Draco muttered something along the lines of "Dear Merlin, they've named it."

Kingsley didn't break pace. "I'm going to take you to the door, but then I'm going to have to get back. I'm assured that Mrs. Weasley will take care of you from there." Piece finished, Kingsley held out a hand to indicate that Draco should start down the path.

An understanding sort of silence fell over the two men as they walked, which Draco found himself incapable of maintaining.

"Why didn't we just apparate to the door?"

Kingsley replied evenly, "Manners, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco scoffed. "Right, yeah, 'cos we're not past the stage of manners already. Not like you're imposing my presence on them or anything, not like they don't have a say in the matter."

"I don't know exactly what kind of friendships exist around you, Mr. Malfoy," Kingsley began carefully, "But rest assured, if the Weasleys had ultimately disagreed to you being here you would still be in that room at the Ministry."

Draco blinked. "You mean they agreed to let me stay here? You didn't just order them to?"

Kingsley smiled a slow smile. "They don't work for me, Mr. Malfoy. I can't order them to do anything. Well - maybe Arthur does work for me. But even so, this is entirely unrelated to work, or at least his work. They're doing it as a favour to me."

Draco frowned. "A favour."

It didn't sound particularly trustworthy to him; favours were borne of selflessness, and you simply couldn't trust people to be selfless when it didn't suit them.

"How do you know they're not gonna chuck me out when you're not looking, or they won't just owl my father? You know - 'Hey Lucius, know we're not on particularly good terms at the mo but I've got something that we have a mutual dislike for- your son, Draco? Love, the Weasleys and Potter'"

Kingsley answered calmly in response to Draco's rising anger. "Because I trust them with my life - and therefore yours. Fortunately the Weasley family are on the whole more trustworthy than, for example, the Goyles."

Draco itched to say something roughly equating to "shove it up your arse", but feared that it might land him permanently in that cell next to the werewolf. The unfamiliar and unwelcome sensation of being very much reliant on other peoples' kindness to survive crept over him, and he made an unofficial promise to himself to try and be cordial towards his keepers.

As far as possible.

Unless he was provoked.

Instead, he deigned to remain silent until they reached the crooked front door of the hovel, where Kingsley rapped hard on the door twice (Draco wondered if it might fall of its hinges), and waited until a slightly nervous-sounding voice sounded through the frail wood. "Kingsley? Is that you?"

"Yes, Molly, it's me. I've got Mr. Malfoy with me."

The voice came back sounding slightly more nervous and slightly scarier. "Oh yes, of course." The false surprise in her voice somehow made Draco twitchy. He pulled on the last of his cigarette and threw it over his shoulder. The sound of heavy, rusty bolts being pulled back made the hair on Draco's neck stand on end and he winced as a small, rounded, red-haired woman came into view, filling the small gap between the moderately open door and the doorframe completely. Kingsley produced Draco's wand and handed it to him, ignoring Mrs Weasley's flinch as he did so.

"Goodbye, Mr. Malfoy. I'll let you know as soon as we hear anything of your father. Nice to see you Molly."

Mrs Weasley seemed to gather herself, and she returned the sentiments. "Lovely to see you too, Kingsley. Now, are you coming to dinner next week? Remus and Tonks are coming, and Bill and Fleur."

Kingsley smiled, "I'll do my very best, Molly. Goodbye."

The Head Auror turned, walked about forty metres to the left, and disapparated. Mrs Weasley, who had been watching Kingsley leave worriedly, remembered herself again.

"Well you'd best come in, um, Draco." She said his name carefully, "We really oughtn't stand around on the doorstep." She opened the door a little further and ushered Draco in, taking a step back to give him plenty of space. Draco looked around curiously; it was tiny and ramshackle, they appeared to be in the kitchen but there didn't seem to be much of a divide between rooms. There wasn't any hallway at all. He watched the washing clean itself for a while, a strange feeling taking hold of him. There was something about the old blanket thrown haphazardly over the back of the just-visible sofa, the mud-crusted Wellies in all sizes that crowded around the door and spilled into the house, the smell... It reminded him of... Something. Something warm and homey and-

"I've got some soup on, if you're hungry." Mrs Weasley sounded more comfortable now, inside her own house. "Chicken soup."

Draco could smell it. He really was hungry. Well, he'd have to live here for a couple of weeks at least; might as well check out the food situation - i.e., if he was going to be eating it or not.

"That would be nice, thank you." He said politely, pleased with himself for sounding so Gryffindor. Mrs Weasley looked pleased as well, and surprised.

"Alright, well just sit yourself down there," she gestured to the table with her wand, simultaneously summoning a loaf of bread. A large pot sat on the stove, the contents of which now stirred themselves as Mrs Weasley charmed the loaf of bread to slice itself. A bowl skidded across from the crockery cupboard and stopped in front of Draco, shortly followed by a spoon, two thick slices of buttered bread, and then a ladle of soup, which emptied itself neatly into Draco's bowl before returning to the pot on the stove. Draco was impressed. Having only ever been served by house elves, he had never given any thought to how less well-off wizarding families fed themselves. He supposed it wasn't too barbaric.

Another bowl of soup settled itself on the other side of the table and Mrs Weasley sat behind it. Draco pondered for a second the unlikeliness of the situation before his stomach's displeasure made itself known very loudly, and he gave in to the soup.

He blew on the first spoonful tentatively, untrusting of most food prepared by human hands. But Mrs Weasley was watching him and he couldn't put it off forever.

And it was delicious. Not just nice; delicious. Draco caught himself staring at the bowl for a good few seconds. Mrs Weasley looked slyly at him, unable to resist.

"I'm no house elf, but how is it?"

Draco shook himself. "It's very nice, Mrs Weasley," he gathered himself, "Thank you."

Mrs Weasley seemed satisfied with that, and they finished their soup together in a relatively comfortable silence. Mrs Weasley finished first, and after sitting for a while she evidently found the quiet too awkward.

"The others are out playing Quidditch in the orchard. They won't be back for a few hours. You've got Bill and Charlie's old room, I'll show you to it when you're finished. I also dug out a few old clothes of Charlie's that I'm sure you can transfigure - Kingsley said you didn't have anything with you when you came from the Man-"

Draco stood abruptly, having desperately shovelled the last of his tepid soup into his mouth once Mrs Weasley started talking. "Cheers Mrs Weasley, but I'd like to go to my room now. Please. I didn't get much sleep."

A curiously sympathetic look came over Mrs Weasley's features. "Of course, I'm not surprised, with a day like you've had." She seemed to sense that Draco didn't want to talk anymore, and Draco decided not to tell her that his lack of sleep had been down to a werewolf biting things next door, and not any kind of inner turmoil. Mainly.

Mrs Weasley lead the way up a very unstable-looking staircase, which Draco suspected and hoped was magically reinforced. She pointed out rooms as she went - it appeared the whole bloody clan were home apart from the eldest, Bilius or whatever he was called. She stopped on the fourth floor landing, and pointed to her left.

"That's Arthur and I, in there. You're this one." She turned around and opened the door on the opposite side of the very small landing. So, they were keeping an eye on him.

"Ron and Harry's room is upstairs." She turned to face Draco again, hands on formidable hips, standing between him and the welcoming promise of solitude. "Now, Mr Malfoy, there are some things that we need to establish before you get settled."

The sympathetic glint had gone from her eye, replaced by a terrifying sort of determination.

"While you are here you will participate, as the others do, in chores. We appreciate the decision you have made, but it does _not_ make you better than any of us, and if I hear of you making any comment to that or similar effect I will no longer have you in this house. I will not tolerate any disparaging comments towards any of the people who live here, or any of our guests. I should warn you that most of my sons are very unhappy with this arrangement, and that it would not be a good idea to provoke them. I will be fair with my punishments, but I can't stop them from being creative. Please remember that two of my sons run a very good joke shop. I find it's a good idea to watch where I leave my wand." She paused and smiled briefly. "No smoking inside, no eating in the bedrooms. You make your bed every morning, and you absolutely always put the toilet seat down in the bathroom - I don't care that there's only three women in this house. Speaking of which, no going in the girls' bedroom." Draco smirked inwardly at that last one, wondering what she would say if Draco told her it was the boys she should be worried about.

He remembered Ronald and thought that, on second thoughts, they should be safe.

Rant over, Mrs Weasley stood aside to let Draco enter his new room. "That said, I hope we can get to know and accept each other over the coming weeks." She put an unexpected hand on Draco's shoulder as he moved past her. "What you have done is really very brave."

Draco stared at the Weasley matriarch for a second, trying to comprehend the kind, smiling eyes and warm hand on his shoulder. Directed at _him._

In the end he nodded and attempted a smile - which succeeded only as a sort of grimace - slipped into his room, and shut the door.

Which he then collapsed against.

If Mrs Weasley had heard she made no sign of it, as Draco heard her footsteps on the stairs a couple of seconds later. He waited until her footsteps died away into the echoes of the house, before hauling himself upright and taking in his new room.

It was as diametrically opposite as it was possible to be from his bedroom in the Manor. The walls were painted blue, a neutrality that Draco appreciated (thank Merlin they weren't red, at least) and the floorboards were bare aside from an old striped rug beside the bed. It was sparsely furnished with just a desk, chair, bed and wardrobe, but stacks of books littered the floor and the desk drawers, when he checked, were full of odds and ends. The bed was low and wooden-framed, a far cry from his high, four-postered, wrought-iron framed bed at the Manor - but then again compared to the cot he'd slept in last night it was the very height of luxury. When he tested the springs they were fairly abysmal, but he was sure there was a charm for that. As Mrs Weasley had promised, there was a small pile of clothes at the foot of the bed. On unfolding them it was obvious that the boy who had worn them was of a very different build to Draco, but, though he'd never actually needed to practice it, Draco knew the theory of resizing clothes well enough that he was sure he'd be able to charm them enough to wear them without looking like a total tit. And maybe he'd change the colour of a few pieces as well - Charlie obviously had an aversion to black.

Draco lay down on his new bed and summoned a cigarette from his pocket, too lazy to reach down and pull one out. He lit it with his wand and took a long, grateful drag, kicking off his shoes and stretching out on the bed fully. He summoned a quill from the desk and transfigured it into an ashtray, tapping a long cylinder of ash into it.

A litany of Pansy's came into his head; _shoes off before you put your feet on the furniture, don't get ash on the bed!_

That was before he'd stopped fucking girls; before he realised that women _really_ couldn't offer him anything men couldn't do better. He sniggered to think of what Pansy would say now - him following her rules to respect blood traitors, abandoning his family and his _money_ in large part because he liked having sex with men too much.

He giggled and dropped his burnt-out cigarette into the makeshift ashtray. Then he giggled again. Then once he started, somehow, he couldn't stop, and he giggled himself to sleep.

Draco awoke - judging by the angle of the sun - several hours later, to the sound of several pairs of feet thundering up and and down the steps outside his door.

Bloody Gryffindors, always so bloody keen.

He sat up painfully, sleep having stiffened the aches of his last (hopefully ever) round with Bellatrix, and slid his socked feet onto the floor, one of them landing in his forgotten ashtray.

"Oh, for _fuck's_ sake." Draco said loudly, and a pair of feet that had been in the process of thundering past his door ceased. Draco glared at the door, daring whoever it was to walk in. They obviously felt the negative vibes, because after pausing for a second the footsteps continued down the stairs.

Draco turned his attention back to his sock, which he swiftly cleaned, vanishing the cigarette butt and powdered ash left in the ash tray at the same time. He got halfway through putting his shoes on before deciding, unwilling to join his hosts, that there wasn't much point. Instead he went to the desk, sat down in the hard wooden chair, and decided to root through the drawers.

Or that was his intention. Halfway through the first drawer his snooping was interrupted by a hard knock on the door. He hastily shoved the drawer shut and pulled out a cigarette to give the illusion of purpose, before realising that his ashtray was on the other side of the room. Before he could summon it, and halfway through lighting up, Harry Potter entered his room.

Harry nodded at Draco. "Malfoy. I've been told to tell you that it's dinner. And if Mrs Weasley catches you smoking in the house she'll skin you."

Draco, who was preoccupied with the fact that he and Potter had not been in a room alone together since Potter walked in on him in the bathroom, tried to come across unperturbed.

So, as a natural reaction, he sneered. "Thanks for the warning, Potter, but I think I can survive anything Mother Weasley can dish out."

Harry rolled his eyes skywards and called to someone unseen behind him. "Still a top wanker."

Feminine giggling sounded from the stairwell below, but that did not necessarily clarify the identity of the perpetrator. Draco suspected that Potter's ginger sidekick had a womanly laugh.

Draco decided to take the high road. "Is there anything else I can do for you, Potter? Or was my sparkling wit enough to make you go away?"

He blinked, quickly. Had he- that had sounded suspiciously like- he wasn't seriously having _banter_ with Potter, was he? Potter evidently agreed, and gave Draco a strange look.

"'fraid you don't have a choice in the matter, Malfoy. Mrs Weasley wants you downstairs."

Draco sighed, and got to his feet, vanishing his barely touched cigarette with a puff of exasperation. He followed Potter down the many flights of stairs sullenly, dragging his feet for his own benefit rather than anyone else's.

Bloody Potter. Bloody Weasleys. Bloody Gryffindors.

It didn't really hit him that he was about to walk into the middle of a Weasley commune until he reached the bottom of the stairs. Potter had gone on ahead, obviously caring very little about how Malfoy would find where he was supposed to go or who he was supposed to be grateful to or anything.

He quickly found that the answer to the first question was obvious. The very loud chatter that had drawn him to the right room ceased almost immediately as he came through the door. The kitchen was jammed full of Weasleys, crowding around the table that had housed himself and Mrs Weasley a few hours prior. The table did not look big enough to fit all nine of the Weasleys - Draco counted the gingers - as well as Potter and Granger, whose bushy hair he picked out easily in the middle of the table. He had no idea where to sit.

Mr Weasley - or so Draco presumed - got to his feet awkwardly. He was thin and greying, and he looked haggard beneath the spectacles, but he greeted Draco with surprising warmth.

"Hello, Draco. Is it alright if I call you Draco? Please, do come in and sit down. Kingsley's told us all about what happened. Horrible, but very brave of you. I hope you won't mind clarifying a few-"

"Arthur!" Mrs Weasley interjected, mouthing furiously but unintelligible words at her husband. Mr Weasley turned to his wife.

"Molly, I just think it might be helpful if we get this out of the way; clear the air-"

"Hehasjustlefthiswholefamily," she said very quickly, without moving her lips much. "Don't you think it would be better to wait until he's settled?" she turned to Draco. "I'm sorry, Draco. Please sit down, erm, I think there's a place set for you between Arthur and-"

"Yeah Malfoy," Ron's voice sounded very clearly down the table, "Why don't you tell us why you left? Or the reason Voldemort told you to give us, you decide."

"_Ronald_." Mrs Weasley said, furiously.

"What?" said Ron, in the same loud voice. "He's a Death Eater, i'n't he? I'd like to hear the reason why I've got a Death Eater in my house."

Mr Weasley, who had sat down by now, turned to his youngest son. "Ron, you know the reason he's-"

"What, that he got tortured one too many times? And by chance he discovered an ancient spell in his library that let him escape Malfoy Manor which is basically a fortress, and, oh, also, made his Dark Mark go away? You're seriously buying this?"

Draco listened with interest. So that was the story Kingsley had told them? Why had he omitted James? Had he escaped from power crazed blood purists and come to live with homophobes?

Draco decided that Kingsley could, now, shove it up his arse.

Mrs Weasley was admonishing her son again, but Draco cut her off.

"Nah, it's alright. It's a pretty unlikely story. It's also not entirely true, which is probably a contributing factor."

Ron looked smug, and Mrs Weasley looked scandalised.

"Go on then, Malfoy. Tell us the real story. What did you do? Did daddy kick you out?"

Draco rolled up the left sleeve of his robe and showed them the nearly white scar of his Dark Mark.

"What did I do?" he grinned, and decided to be theatrical. "He was called James, and he was a half-blood."

Harry dropped his fork.


	3. Imbalance

**ANOTHER spectacular response, guys, you are fantastic. Either that or I significantly underestimated the power of Drarry ;) you'll be happy to hear that I've already started the next chapter, looking to put it up either tomorrow or Tuesday. That is unusually fast for me but I am finding it really easy to write this story for some reason :D**

**And as most of you who have reviewed will now know, I do try and reply personally to all of you. I hope you feel appreciated. Another incentive to review? Or not. If you have no desire to speak to me.**

***cries***

**Hope you enjoy, and a quick warning: here be sexy stuff. No sex, don't get too excited, but Draco is a horny male with needs. If that's not your thing (you're weird) then you can just skip that bit. It's pretty obvious when it comes up.**

**Aside from that, here's the next chapter!**

The sound of Harry's dropped cutlery reverberated for a disproportionately long time around the suddenly silent kitchen.

Draco felt his fingers twitch towards the pocket with his cigarettes, but restrained himself, deciding that the next few minutes would provide entertainment enough. He took an immediate glance at all of the faces before him, ranging from absolute horror (Potter's sidekick) to barely restrained giggles (Potter's girlfriend).

"What?" An undefined Weasley cried.

"Oh my God, of course!" That was Granger, pretending she knew everything, as usual.

"You're a poof! You're a bloody poof!" Ron was, uncharacteristically, the first to make a coherent response. Hermione let out a kind of squeak.

"Ronald!" Mrs Weasley reprimanded him, seemingly on autopilot, but Ron, having said his piece, had descended into a mute state of mixed joy and horror.

One of the Identicals piped up;

"Well, this is a turn up for the books."

"Yes,"supplied the other Identical. "Are we to believe that the legends are false?"

Ron blinked, and then scoffed, "What, the tales of Malfoy, the legendary cocksman? Like anyone would shag him anyway."

Draco didn't dignify that with a response, though he did do a rough mental bonk-count to reassure himself that he was, indeed, a legendary cocksman.

The oldest-looking brother simply shrugged. "I knew a mile off. Look at his hair, for Merlin's sake." he stood and turned to Draco, "I don't mean to sound reverse-prejudiced but the fact that you're gay actually makes me like you more." then he squeezed out of his place at the table, and walked around to where Draco was standing.

"Nice one." and he held out a broad, calloused hand for Draco to shake. Draco watched his own pale, pianist's (though he'd never played the piano) hand stretch out to meet it. The family around the table tensed, the house held its breath- and then the handshake was over. Draco had half expected there to be some kind of explosion, and found he was actually disappointed at the benign reaction of the family to his controversial statement.

A rather pompous-looking brother cleared his throat.

"I, ah. Well, I also think it's, er, _admirable_ that you, ah, decided to leave your family based on the fact that they, er, disapprove of your... Your..."

"Sexual inclination." Ginny supplied helpfully, eking the words out past the giggles that threatened to escape.

Percy's ears reddened very slightly. "Yes."

Draco was also having a hard time remaining serious. "Cheers. But you know, I think it was more the torture that finally tipped me over the edge, not the sex withdrawal."

Suitably pleased with the response this sentence engendered, Draco took another sweeping glance of the room, and his eyes eventually, inevitably, alighted on Potter. There was a red flush creeping up from the neck of his tshirt, but he gazed back at Malfoy with a steady resolution not to back down. Harry nodded once at his former enemy, but did not break the stare until Ginny, sitting beside him, seemed to ask if he was alright.

A flash of light illuminated Draco's mind for a second and revealed something blindingly obvious and slightly sickening. But as soon as it came it was gone, and Draco was left with nothing but the infuriating feeling that he had forgotten something that might have made his life a lot more interesting.

Mr Weasley was the one who, eventually, broke the tight silence. "Well, Draco, thank you for sharing that with us. I expect Kingsley only told us the revised edition for your sake. Come and sit down, we're having steak pie."

Draco reluctantly drew the chair that placed him between Pompous brother and Mr Weasley, when Hermione, true to form, burst with the force of her question.

"But don't you see, he hasn't told us anything! I mean yes, he's gay, and maybe that was another reason why he _wanted_ to leave, but he hasn't told us the truth about how he actually managed it. I know about the kinds of spells they have on houses like Malfoy Manor, and they don't just write them down in library books. You physically can't write most of them down, so..." she took a deep, neglected breath in, and looked straight at Draco (which was actually a bit scary) "Malfoy, tell us the truth."

So they had arrived at the part that he really, honestly hadn't wanted to talk about. He had hoped that coming out would distract them from what the Most Annoying Weasley had asked, but of course the indefatigable Granger wouldn't be deterred. He sighed and slumped down into his seat, then turned the full force of his annoyance on Hermione.

"Alright Granger, I'll tell you all my personal life story to satisfy your morbid curiosity, even though I don't know any of you and we essentially hate each other. And despite the fact that I've provided Kingsley with memories - the pertinent ones of which I'm sure he's already shown you - so you know I'm telling the truth. Yeah, I'll do that." Hermione looked chastened, but not as if she was about to retract her request, so Draco steeled himself and ploughed on. "I told you about James. Well, suppose my father walked in on us fucking," he ignored Mrs Weasley's halfhearted telling off at the word, "and suppose, which is very easy, I imagine, that my father is a raging homophobe. And he really, really wants an heir. So that's the situation, and we get dressed and my father is just standing there, glaring. And then he gives James an ultimatum and says "Either you cut my son so that he bleeds, or I will kill him myself."" Draco swallowed, the words throwing up images of his father, previously red-faced and fuming, now cool and smooth as glass as he threatened to kill his own son. He had never been so convincing. He heard someone give a sharp intake of breath, but couldn't be bothered to determine the source.

"So obviously James chooses option one, and he conjures a knife. And then he cuts me, here." Draco pointed to the still open gash in his arm. "Obviously it's not the same wound," he said, patronisingly, as he could tell Granger was just bursting to say something about having seen Draco cut himself there in the memory, "- just the same place. He made a really nice cut, as cuts go. Didn't hurt that much." Draco had given up speaking as though he was telling a metaphorical story. "And when I started bleeding, he disappeared." Draco decided to cut short the end of his story, having embellished too much the other parts.

Story finished, he turned to Mrs Weasley.

"Can I eat in the living room tonight, Mrs Weasley?" Mrs Weasley might have disagreed, but Draco, without waiting for an answer, summoned a plate of food from the table and left the room without another word.

Draco walked into the living room for the first time, barely taking in his cosy surroundings. He lowered himself into the sagging sofa and balanced his plate of delicious-smelling pie on his knees.

Stupid _bloody _Gryffindors. Always thought they knew everything - or was that just Granger's personality?

Was it really that difficult to just leave things? Maybe if they'd had his upbringing they'd appreciate ignorance a bit more - just ask for the vitals and leave the rest for someone else to deal with. It wasn't like he was a particular danger to them here anyway, surrounded by, all prejudice aside, capable wizards on all levels. Literally. He had Harry Potter and the Witless Wonder upstairs, scary Mrs Weasley opposite and the brother that trained dragons for a living downstairs. Not to mention the Identicals who owned a joke shop. Or the Weaslette, for that matter - he still had a tiny scar under his nose from the bat-bogey she'd hit him with in fifth year.

It wasn't that he liked complementing the Wealseys, it was more that he couldn't afford not to acknowledge them. Draco felt the sofa sag even lower as the oldest brother came in and sat beside him.

"Hey. I'm Charlie."

Draco glanced up. "The dragon tamer. I'd introduce myself but I don't think I need to."

Charlie acknowledged this with a nod. "Yeah, aren't you that gay bloke?"

Draco felt himself grinning and relaxed gratefully back against the sofa. "Yeah, that's me. Aren't you scared to be alone with me? I might jump you."

Charlie chuckled. "Yeah, cos I'm just that irresistible. Don't worry about me mate, I think I can hold you off if you find you can't restrain yourself."

A comfortable silence built between the two that Draco had never been able to maintain with anyone but Blaise before.

Draco felt a surge of near-gratitude towards Charlie. "You remind me of my mate Blaise a bit." he said.

Charlie, who had been in the process of shovelling pie into his mouth, turned and swallowed quickly. "Zabini? I don't know how to take that, I've never spoken to him. Is he an irresistible dragon tamer too?"

Draco laughed again, surprising even himself with how genuine it sounded. "He might be. He'll tell a girl anything to get her to go home with him."

"Oh, now I see. You picked up on my pulling skills. Well, yeah. I'm a bit of a legend." he said sarcastically. "But so are you, apparently. 'Malfoy the legendary cocksman?'"

Draco shrugged modestly, "What can I say?"

Charlie replied simply, "What indeed?"

And they finished their pie together in manly silence.

It was nearly midnight, and Draco was bored. He had suffered from an inability to sleep at night since fifth year, when there started to be mutterings of him being trained up, proving himself to the Dark Lord. He might sleep tonight and he might not. Usually he didn't and instead had a nap during the day. Instead of even trying to sleep tonight, Draco lounged in his desk chair chain smoking, rifling through the absent Bill's desk drawers. He seemed to be an interesting character. An old silver lighter, a tightly sealed bottle with what looked like poison in it and a Phoenix feather were among some of the more interesting things, but there was also, crucially, a _very _racy love letter.

It didn't matter that it was quite obviously from a girl, she - whoever she was - had a commendable application of language, and here she had included some very good descriptions of the mysterious Bill's, er, _attributes_.

Draco only felt mildly pervy reading it until that point. That was were it got downright weird. And hot.

Contrary to what he had said to the Weasley family, sex withdrawal had driven him to desperation just as torture had. He remembered with shame and disgust all the quickies with rich pure-blood girls in the library, in the second best drawing room, the seldom-used hallways of Malfoy Manor.

They never had... Conventional sex.

And of course there was the occasional boy - it was astounding how many closet poofs there were in pureblood society. Draco blamed inbreeding.

Draco was aware that his sex drive was perhaps unusually high.

But none of that - not even remembering all the girls - could detract from the fact that he now had a raging hard-on and no one but himself willing to relieve it.

Deciding to kill two birds with one stone, Draco thought he may as well have a shower, summoning a towel from his wardrobe and arranging it carefully across his crotch in case he bumped into anyone on the way.

He trod lightly down the two flights of stairs to the bathroom, and shut the door behind him, deciding on the spur of the moment not to lock it, the thrill of danger sending a shock of lust through him as it always did.

He stripped off quickly, ignoring his reflection in the large mirror over the sink to lean into the shower and turn the taps on. He left it for a while, not trusting Mrs Wealey's assurance that the water would come out at the perfect temperature immediately, before the cold floor on his bare feet became too much and he leapt in.

He groaned. The water _was_ perfect. The pressure was a little bit weak for his taste but the sensation of warm water running across his skin was incredible. He tried to remember when he'd last bothered to shower, generally just using a simple cleaning charm to make himself look presentable when he had to have company.

He blindly grabbed at a bottle of body wash, soaping himself slowly, trying to prolong the experience. He brushed experimentally along his length with a soapy hand and groaned again, louder, biting his lip halfway through to stop himself from being heard.

_Anyone could hear me_

A weight of lust dropped through his stomach down into his groin at this thought, and he bit his lip harder, until he tasted blood. He brushed himself again, lightly, cursing and praising his own self-control.

Finally, finally, he gripped himself firmly. He sucked in a breath and squeezed, lurid thoughts of tugging on dark brown hair and gripping tanned flesh flooded his brain without warning, words from Bill's letter. He stroked up and down once, firmly, twisting at the head with practiced skill. He ran a thumb over the head, imagining a tongue in its place, the moisture all around him almost making it plausible. His other arms shot out against the wall and he steadied himself against it, stroking himself slowly, slowly, the image of glossy brown hair and scarred shoulders playing itself against his eyelids, almost feeling imaginary-James' teasing lick against his balls before he swallowed him whole.

Draco moaned, collapsing against the wall desperately and pressing his forehead to the cold tiles to pump himself faster, but still restraining himself, letting his thumb brush across the head just occasionally, teasing himself until he re-punctured his lip in an attempt to hold back the moans.

A sounds from upstairs. Draco gasped, forcing his chest against the tiles, imagining he was fucking James' face into the cool wall as he bucked his hips wildly against his hand. A thought of how depraved he must look entered his head, disgusting him and turning him on. Another shuffle from the room above shot lust through his abdomen and... and...

"Ffuuuuuck," he came, cum spilling over the tiles, his stomach, his hands. He collapsed to the floor and let the water rinse him of his actions, trying to suppress the post-orgasm guilt with the post-orgasm glow.

Well, fuck.

Later, he might feel disgusted, but right now he couldn't bring himself to care that he'd just had a fantastic wank in the Weasley's shower. He washed his hair quickly and stepped out of the shower, sighing at the threadbare state of the too-small towel. Instead of attempting to dry himself with it, he simply wrapped it around his waist and decided to use his wand to dry off when he got back to his room.

Easier said than done.

A giggle halted Draco's stealthy progress up the stairs. It seemed to come from below him, but Draco considered going back into the bathroom for safety. It really was a very small towel. But then-

"Oh, Harry!" the moan floated up the stairs, from what Draco now remembered was the Weaslette and Granger's room. Draco wondered for a second if Granger was still in there but another gasp broke his train of thought. Sounded like Potter was giving it to her good. Draco cringed at his own choice of words for his internal monologue. He sounded like Nott.

"Harry?" that one was more alarm than anything, and suddenly the situation shifted. He'd never had Potter pegged as a rapist and he actually felt a bit weird standing here listening to it. He crept down a few stairs so that his head was level with the top of the door if he crouched.

"I know, I'm sorry Gin." Oh. Now _that _was a tone Draco recognised. The shame of not being able to keep it up? Not being able to come?

The Weaslette did what all females did in that situation. Made the bloke feel worse by blaming it on themselves.

"I'm sorry Harry, am I doing something wrong? You usually like it..."

The sound of bedclothes rustling.

"No, no no no Gin, it's not you-"

And so the Weaslette progressed into the next step of making a bad situation worse; blaming the bloke;

"It's not you, it's me? Seriously? Sorry Gin, I'm just really tired? I'm stressed out? I had a wank earlier? What, Harry?"

Silence. Draco raised an eyebrow. Well _this_ was unexpected.

"Really, Gin. I love you. I'm just-"

"No! Harry! I don't want you to say 'I love you', I want you to say 'you turn me on' or 'I want to fuck you'! It's not that I don't feel appreciated, you always appreciate _me_, you just never let me appreciate _you_! Maybe if we ever had sex it'd be ok-"

Bed springs creaked, and Draco backed up the stairs a couple of steps.

"I've got to go, Gin." he said something else too quietly for Draco to hear, and then the bed springs creaked again. Draco sprinted up the stairs silently, dashing into his room and locking the door.

Once he was leaning against the door Draco released the iron grip he had on his towel, and let it fall to the floor. A grin spread slowly across his face. The power balance had shifted, and Potter didn't even know it yet.


	4. Disturbance

**Howdy!**

**Sorry it took me longer than expected to update (about two weeks longer) but a lot of stuff has happened in my real life, good and bad (I HAVE AN AWESOME BEAUTIFUL GIRLFRIEND LALALLLAALA - don't ask me why a lesbian is writing m/m slash. I don't know.) but yeah. Here, I am offering you a new slice of fanfiction pie.**

**Hope you enjoy, and if you do, please review - a special shout out must go to HornyCorny who is just utterly awesome and lovely and inspired me to update :D**

**Love you all!**

Draco needed a shave. Badly. What had started as a five o'clock shadow had morphed into a half-beard of quite epic proportions in the four days that he had been here. It wouldn't have been quite so bad if Draco's facial hair didn't have a distinctly ginger tinge. And this was absolutely the worst place for that trait to make itself known.

Draco hadn't given his appearance much thought; avoiding looking at his reflection in the bathroom mirror when he showered. Years of vain habits had been startlingly easy to break and Draco wondered if he was having some kind of break down.

So when Draco went down to breakfast that morning -

"Draco! When did you last shave?" Mrs Weasley said to him from the stove.

Draco's hand went immediately to his face, and he winced at the thick stubble he found there. "Er... Five days ago?"

Mrs Weasley placed a heaped plate of bacon in the middle of the table, where it was immediately descended upon by Pompous Weasley and Potter, them being the only ones up this early. Draco felt vaguely disgusted.

"Well," Mrs Weasley said, firmly, "You ought to shave, you look like a convict. Harry's got a lovely razor, it's enchanted." She turned to Harry, "You wouldn't mind lending Draco your razor, would you?"

Harry stared up at them, looking distinctly rabbit-in-the-headlights. He glanced back and forth between Mrs Weasley and Draco as if to say, 'you are kidding, right?'

When it became apparent that they weren't kidding, Harry swallowed him bacon and nodded. Mrs Weasley beamed.

"Wonderful. Straight after breakfast, Draco!"

Draco pulled his face into an over-bright grin, deciding that this would be a prime opportunity to reveal to Potter the ill-gotten knowledge that Draco had about his sex life. Harry grimaced into his bacon, eating much slower now that the end of the meal signalled alone time with Draco. When finally, Harry could not eat any more bacon and the rest of the family were downstairs - a side effect of his slow eating that Potter had probably not anticipated - Draco, who had been waiting patiently, casually tilting his chair back on two legs, got to his feet.

"Shall we?" he said, innocently.

Harry sighed and also stood, leading the way up to the room at the top of the house in silence. When they reached the door, Harry turned to Draco and muttered,

"Stay here."

Draco blindly ignored this and followed Harry in, who made no further attempt to make Draco go away. Harry dropped to his knees beside a large, open, rucksack and proceeded to root around inside it. Draco glanced around the small room with distaste. Well, he was grateful that they hadn't put him in here, at least. Chudley Cannons paraphernalia was everywhere, sticking to all the surfaces like orange mould. The bed that was obviously Harry's (because of the welcome lack of orange) appeared to be a fairly permanent fixture, with a proper bed frame and a small table beside it that housed a small mokeskin pouch and a sneakoscope.

Draco appraised the photo above Harry's bed with humour. A black and white photo of a scantily-clad muggle girl who was draped across a large machine, lips pouting obscenely.

"Potter, _what _is this?"

Harry glanced up and shrugged. "Famous muggle."

Draco smirked at the shortness of the other boy's tone, sensing his opportunity. "Very _sexy_, isn't she?"

Harry looked annoyed. "I think that's the point, yeah Malfoy."

Draco took a couple of steps towards the picture, and traced his finger over the considerable curves of the woman. "Yeah, you like your women, don't you Potter? Always very respectful, I'm told. Always very gentlemanly."

"Bugger off, you annoying twat." Was Harry's candid response.

"Nothing wrong with being gentlemanly. But you'd think," Draco turned gleefully, having got to the crux of his soliloquy, "you'd think after three months you'd just want a good fuck. How's the Weaslette in bed?"

Harry turned slightly red and got to his feet. "Malfoy, fuck off _right now_, or I will be forced to castrate you in a very inventive way."

Malfoy smirked and held his hands out. "Just saying, Potter. Man to man, you might to tap that before the She-Weasel starts thinking you're a eunuch." he leant close to Harry and stage-whispered the next part. "Tell her to keep it down next time, some people have showers late at night." Draco paused, heart hammering from this unusual chance to take the piss of out Potter, "Although it didn't sound like she was having trouble keeping some _other_ things down." he then summoned the razor from Harry's hands and caught it.

"Cheers for this, I'll get it back to you at some point."

Harry had turned dangerously red, starting to say something and his hand going to his wand pocket, but Draco was out of the door. Potter was fun to piss off, but he was also pretty good a duelling, and Draco _really_ wanted to get rid of his horrible beard.

Safe in the bathroom, Draco pulled out the enchanted razor from his pocket. He had used one of these before; he knew the dangers of non-specification. The razor rose out of his hand and hovered about five inches from his face, waiting.

"Just the beard. All of the beard. Nothing below the neck or above the nose, got it? And no non-facial hair. Close shave, but not too close."

The razor didn't reply - because it was a razor - but it whirred to life and approached Draco's face, who tried not to flinch. It was all over in about fifteen seconds, and Draco ran his hands appreciatively over his newly-smooth face.

He looked at the razor, which was now floating hopefully by his ear. "Cheers. Very nice."

The razor buzzed into silence.

Now he had to return it. Draco reasoned that Potter would never admit to the Weasleys why he was pissed off at Draco, so he would probably be safer returning the razor out in the open. This said, he opened the door and was immediately pinned between it and Harry's wand.

"Er, hello Potter." Draco said innocently. "Any particular reason you've got me up against a wall?"

Harry blushed slightly and took a step away from Draco, extending his arm so that his wand remained pointed at Draco's neck.

Draco breathed out slightly. "And could you drop the theatrics, now? Both of us know you're not actually going to do anything, so put the wand away and spit it out."

Harry's lip curled and he jabbed the point of his wand rather sharply into Draco's jugular, cutting off some the the blood flow to his head and causing Draco to get slightly light-headed.

"No Malfoy, I think I'll keep the wand out. Listen, you are not going to say a word about whatever you may or may not have heard the other night, are we clear? Not a word. If Ginny hears about this, it's not going to be me on the receiving end of a bat bogey." he paused, glasses flashing angrily. It was sort of... Draco stopped that thought in its tracks as Harry continued.

"In fact, if you breathe a word of this, it's not going to be me without a place to sleep."

Draco cocked an eyebrow. "Message understood, soldier. Now, I think you're cutting off the blood flow to my head, so-"

"What are you doing?"

Draco rolled his eyes. It was the Weaslette, probably concerned that she hadn't seen her boyfriend for three minutes.

(Draco couldn't put a finger on why exactly he disliked the Weaslette, but he suspected it had a large amount to do with her inability to know when she wasn't required. Like now.)

Harry quickly rescinded his wand.

Draco flexed his neck gingerly, "Oh, the usual." he said airily, "Potter defending your honour or something." he chucked the razor at a slightly surprised Potter's hands, who caught it with annoyingly absent ease.

"Cheers for that, Potty, nice chatting but I must dash - a whole day of doing fuck all awaits."

And Draco spun on his heel jauntily, and climbed up the stairs.

And left Harry and Ginny both wondering if he'd just been _thanked _by Malfoy.

It wasn't that Harry was grateful. Really, it wasn't. It was more that he was confused that Malfoy had done something that might have ordinarily required Harry to be grateful _for._

Really.

It was so uncharacteristically helpful and actually... _Pleasant_, for Malfoy to tell Ginny that Harry had been 'defending her honour'. He supposed it was the truth. But since when had the truth had any sway with what came out of Malfoy's mouth? Why hadn't Malfoy simply said something rude, as usual? Something that both he and Ginny could've ignored easily, instead of something sort of half-decent that had caused Gin to interrogate him relentlessly as to what had actually just happened.

He just felt strange now. Like he ought to do something but he had no idea what.

And this strange feeling was absolutely nothing to do with that night, when Draco came out and a world that had previously felt like precisely that - another world, came crashing into his life and felt tangible suddenly. And it was certainly nothing to do with Draco's shower later that night and Harry's irrational curiosity about what made a gay man moan like that.

What it _was _to do with - and Harry knew this categorically - was the way Malfoy had taken the piss out of his picture of Brigitte Bardot. What was disconcerting was that Malfoy hadn't done anything malicious, but he'd made Harry feel uncomfortable and foolish, like he'd been lying to someone and suddenly discovered that they'd known the truth all along.

Well if Malfoy was trying to insinuate that Harry was bent- Harry frowned, looking down at his girlfriend and realising that she had been talking to him.

"-so I told her that we'd go along, like a double date. So what do you think? I know it's annoying but for some reason she said she couldn't face it on her - Harry, are you listening?"

Harry blinked once, slowly. "Yeah, course. I don't mind coming," he said, hoping desperately that this was the right answer and decided to play it safe, "that is, if you don't mind?"

Ginny grinned. "Excellent. I'll tell Hermione. We'll get changed and meet you downstairs in a bit?"

Harry ran a hand absently through his hair and nodded. "Yep, sounds good. I'll go and let Ron know."

Ginny smiled at him properly this time. "Thanks Harry, I appreciate it. I know we were supposed to spend today together."

They had been. Harry swore internally - he'd been planning on trying to have sex with her again today but he supposed it could wait. He smiled ruefully down at his girlfriend.

"Yeah. Oh well, another time."

Ginny kissed him quickly on the lips and bounded down the stairs to the room she and Hermione shared, while Harry turned around and made his way slowly up to the top of the house, studiously ignoring Malfoy's door as he passed it.

When he reached the attic room Ron was sprawled on his bed in just his pants, hands over his face. Harry walked over to his and punched him slightly in the ribs, noting as he did so that Ron had built up a surprising amount of muscle for someone so skinny.

He supposed Quidditch training would do that to a person.

Ron peered balefully out at Harry through a crack in his fingers.

"You better be coming with us, mate."

Harry grinned. "Looks like I am. I tuned out halfway through when Gin tried to explain it to me though, what exactly have I signed up for?"

Ron sat up, and leant his elbows on his knees. "Can't blame you for that, though I think 'Mione wins the 'Talking for England' award. Merlin's tits, why are women so bloody difficult all the time?"

Harry was becoming increasingly worried about what he had agreed to. "Mate, just tell me what we're doing. If it's that bad I can chuck something out of the window and get us doing chores for the rest of the day."

Ron sighed and shook his head. "Nah, they'd just make us come another day. We're going to the river."

Harry just looked at him. "And...?"

"And, you know, swimming." Ron said, using his eyebrows expressively.

Harry spread his hands to display his ignorance.

"I needed you two to come too cos I was worried I'd, y'know." Ron nodded awkwardly towards his crotch. Harry felt his eyes drop rebelliously down to the bulge in Ron's underwear.

"Hermione and I haven't... Well we haven't..."

Harry nodded furiously. "Got it. Got it. Got it."

"I mean," Ron looked at his feet, hands running through his hair. "I mean, she's gonna be in a bikini, all wet, and I haven't - not since Lavender - I mean, Hermione's.._. _Hell, we've only been together a few weeks._"_

"Ron! Shut up! I've got it." Harry was trying desperately not to allow his thoughts to wander to a wet Hermione. He wondered exactly how long it had been since Ron had-

Ron shook his head. "Sorry mate. I was just worried I might do something... stupid. But now my best mate and my little sister are coming I don't think there's any chance of that." he grinned ruefully. "I s'pose it's for the best."

Ron stood up and stretched, reaching his arms above his head, making his shoulder muscles bunch up.

"Alright, better get changed. They'll get pissed if we make them wait. 'Mione's been bored as hell recently, wants to get a bloody move on."

Harry sighed internally, not wanting to think about the impending war and his total inability to do anything right now. "I know mate. She's not the only one."

Ron dropped the subject, grabbing his wand from behind him on the bed and waving it to transfigure his old boxers into swimming shorts. Harry followed suit as Ron pulled on a thin T-shirt, and Harry shoved his wand into his back pocket. Ron turned back around and stretched out his neck, looking slightly ridiculous in a too-big t-shirt.

"Let's bloody go then, shall we?" Ron grumbled. He strode out of the door ahead of Harry muttering to himself. "Is it too much to ask for just one bloody day of peace? Honestly, women! And she calls _me _unreasonable!..."

Harry had reached the fourth floor landing. Ron was halfway down the staircase in front of him, but Harry found himself hesitating outside the door to Bill's old room.

_"A busy day of doing fuck all ahead of me..."_

If Harry was feeling cooped up and over-restricted he could only imagine what it must be like for Draco. Draco wasn't even allowed out unless he had an escort of at least three people, and finding three willing volunteers had proved difficult. He was under constant threat of having his wand taken away or being kicked out on his arse if he did anything stupid or broke any of the rules, he didn't have any friends here apart from a shaky alliance with Charlie and a strange mutual fondness with Mrs Weasley.

Harry felt his arm moving to knock on the door. There were four of them going to the river, they would be following the rules. Draco would be grateful-

Or would he?

At the sudden thought that Draco might open the door and laugh in his face Harry's arm dropped like a dead weight.

A delicate wisp of cigarette smoke curled out from under the door and Harry shook his head vigorously. Of course Draco wouldn't be grateful. He was a dick. Harry felt his neck redden slightly at his moment of weakness even though there was no one around but Ron, who was at the bottom of the stairs yelling up at him-

"Oi, what are you doing? Is he smoking again? The ungrateful little-"

Harry snapped his attention back to his best mate at the foot of the stairs. "Er, nah. I thought he was but... he... wasn't." Harry finished lamely, inwardly cringing and not entirely sure why he'd lied.

He jogged back down the stairs, and from the other side of the door Draco watched the shadow that had blocked the light from small gap under the door disappear. A strange feeling had gripped him when Potter paused outside his door, drawing him silently out of his seat and over to the door.

He exhaled a long plume of smoke with a sigh.

He was going to go insane in here.


	5. Curiosity

Hola!

I can only tell you how sorry I am that this has taken so long to update - this chapter has been sitting - half-completed - in my desktop for a couple of weeks now. I literally have no excuse other than that I am trying to understand women :| so I hope you enjoy - a couple of you have said that you wanted some James/Draco sex so there is a bit here - for the Drarry die-hards among you, have no fear. We are getting dangerously close to the Drarry. And the sex. Lots of sex.

Enjoy, and once again thank you to my lovely, lovely, beautiful reviewers, favouriters and story alerters. I'd have given up because of boredom if not for you 3

Love you!

So hot.

So hot and so _tight_.

Wet sounds, moans - Draco didn't know or care if they were pleasure or pain. All he cared about was the fact that if he didn't concentrate all of his effort on not coming he was going to orgasm right now.

His hands had uncertain grips on sweaty hipbones and tanned arse, easing himself inside James' body, face-to-face with his grimacing lover who nonetheless squeezed his long legs around Draco's middle to make him push in faster. A long moan ripped its way out of Draco's chest as James pushed him forward so that he was completely sheathed.

All he wanted - _all _he wanted - was to move, but James was shaking his head, _no, it's too much, give me a second, love._

The heat was overwhelming, the pressure irresistible. Draco wanted nothing more than to pull his hips away and then snap them back again, he wanted... he wanted... he _needed _to move.

Sweating profusely, Draco allowed himself to rotate his hips gently, not anticipating the wave of pleasure, not anticipating the sharp orgasm that rocked through his body, not anticipating that tanned James' tanned skin would become pale under his grasping hands, that his dark brown hair would darken to black.

Not anticipating that he would open his eyes to find himself alone in bed at the Burrow, his sheets sticky and his heart pounding.

Draco threw his head back and groaned, inadvertently hitting the solid wooden bed frame as he did so.

"Fucking fuck fuck, bollocks," Draco swore loudly and fluently, rubbing the back of his head with one hand and searching for his wand with the other. Once he had relieved the throb in his skull with a wave of his wand, he cleaned his sheets with another quick spell and threw his legs out of bed, cradling his head in his hands.

Draco hated sex dreams.

Unwilling to walk across the room to retrieve his trousers from where he had left them the night before, Draco summoned his clothes and put them on, uncaring of wearing the same outfit three times in a row.

A month ago he probably would have had an aneurism at the thought.

Mrs Weasley probably _would _have an aneurism at the thought. Draco shrugged off the worry, though his not-unfounded fear of the Weasley matriarch lead him to ensure he was at least wearing clean socks and underwear.

An uneventful trip to the bathroom later, Draco found his path down to breakfast obstructed by Potter and the She-Weasel necking outside her room. Obviously the dry spell had been broken, well whoop-de-fucking-doo, how very fucking lovely.

It's hard not to be bitter when you find yourself fucking yourself into the mattress/shower wall every night because no one else will.

Draco went up very close behind the couple and said conversationally, "I hope you're taking precautions, it's getting pretty heated in here."

Their bodies were not touching anywhere apart from at the mouth. Potter seemed comically unsure of what to do with his hands.

Potter turned quickly, glaring at Draco and opening his mouth to say something, but the She-Weasel simply stuck two fingers up at Draco and pulled Harry down the stairs to the kitchen.

"He's a knob, Harry. Ignore him..."

The anticipation that had filled Draco at the prospect of winding Potty up evaporated, and left him feeling as apathetic and generally horny as he had been for the past two weeks.

Two weeks he'd been here. Two weeks since he'd walked further than the kitchen from his room. Two weeks since he'd been outside. About eight days since he'd really felt anything besides frustration, apathy and lust.

The really frustrating thing was that Draco knew if the Twin Weasels were here they and Charlie would take him outside. Even if they just walked to the village up the hill. Two weeks was long time to be inside. The twins had moved back to their flat in Diagonal Alley a few days after Draco's arrival, concerned for their business once they were sure that Draco posed no, or at least a negligible threat.

Mrs Weasley was worried, he knew. She would probably start bribing her remaining sons to escort him out soon.

Only her sons though. She still didn't entirely trust Draco around the girls, despite his numerous assurances that they had less to worry about than the Weasley brothers. Draco shook his head in disgust - not that the Weasley brothers had anything to worry about either.

Draco was, then, pleasantly surprised when he found the Identicals sitting at the breakfast table with the rest of the family when he eventually descended into the kitchen.

"Morning Ferret," one of them said.

"Morning Weasel Twin One, Weasel Twin Two."

Draco kept his face nonchalant, but inside he was giddy with glee - despite the fairly cold welcome they had proved to be alright and he had even had a few conversations with them. Now, Draco was sure, they called him a slimy ferrety git mainly in a teasing way.

"Morning, Draco." Mrs Weasley called, harried, from the stove. "I'm sure you'll be pleased to hear - Charlie and the twins were planning a walk down to the river later today. And _they_ said you're welcome to go with them." Mrs Weasley said this is such a way that left Draco with no doubt as to the existence of any such plan.

His suspicion was confirmed a second later by one of the Identicals -

"We did nothing of the sort."

The other Identical turned to Draco. "You can rest assured that we would not be doing this if mum hadn't threatened to stop doing our laundry."

Draco smirked, and they gave him a grave look.

"Nothing to snigger at, that laundry. I'll show you one day. One of my socks tried to mate with a vest on Tuesday."

Mr Weasley, the twins, Charlie, Harry, Ginny and Draco burst out laughing at this. Percy was busy reading the paper and Hermione looked slightly nauseated.

"Fred! Honestly, we're trying to eat." Mrs Weasley swooped down between Charlie and Percy to place a large bucket of scrambled eggs on the table. Fred's comments had obviously not had much of an impact upon the collective Weasley appetite as by the time Draco reached for the eggs they had been decimated.

Harry caught his eye across the table and grinned sympathetically, well used to the feeling of annoyance and genuine awe that normal humans felt in the presence of the Weasleys when they ate.

Draco returned the look before he had even fully registered it in his mind, and it turned into a surprised grimace halfway through - which only made Potter smile wider as he turned his face back to his plate.

Draco ground his teeth and willed his face not to turn pink with the blood he felt rushing to his head. He risked another glance up at Potter, who was now talking to Ginny but glanced back at Draco when he felt the blond's gaze on his face. Potter was simply returning his gaze curiously, but as their eye contact continued for a few seconds Draco noticed a red flush creeping up from the loose neck of Harry's tshirt and a muscle that was jumping in his neck. Draco smirked and Harry looked away, back at Ginny who had continued to speak to her boyfriend despite his obvious lack of attention.

Draco wondered if she was really that stupid, or just used to it.

Breakfast out of the way, Charlie caught up with Draco just as he was about to go up the stairs.

"Few tips for later." Charlie said, grinning at Draco's bemused look.

"Don't walk too slowly or they'll just levitate you there in front of us. Don't walk too quickly or they'll just levitate you there in front of us. Don't talk to them too much or they'll just levitate you there in front of us." Charlie grinned again ruefully. "They're creative but they won't waste creativity where levitation will suffice."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Don't walk fast, don't walk slow, don't speak. Got it."

Charlie put his hand on Draco's shoulder - "If it's any consolation I don't actually mind escorting you out. This whole situation is fucked."

Draco shrugged and smiled tightly. "To be honest I'm not really bothered. Just happy to be getting out of here for a bit. I think I've gone stir-crazy, I smiled at Potter earlier."

Charlie chuckled. Not many people could chuckle quite like Charlie and the sound actually made Draco smile a bit. "Yeah, I saw that little exchange. I liked the part where you blushed."

Draco mock-punched him in the side. "Yeah, yeah. Keep talking. I'm so desperately in lust with him I just couldn't keep my eyes off his face. Care to tell me why you were watching so closely?"

Charlie swooned quite impressively and for some reason adopted a Texan accent. "Why you caught me out, Mr Malfoy! I must confess myself to be quite in love with your pale, pale visage."

Draco snorted with laughter and a second later Charlie also collapsed into sniggers.

Just as Draco thought he had himself back under control-

"Ahem, boys!" Mrs Weasley was standing at the foot of the stairs peering into the alcove that Charlie and Draco had ended up in. Charlie removed his arm from Draco's shoulder where it had slipped while they were cracking up and both boys straightened up, trying to smother their laughter.

Mrs Weasley did not look amused. "Don't you need to get ready to go out, both of you? I expect Draco's got a lot to do."

Draco coughed to try and mask the remains of his laughter, "Er, yeah. I do, yeah." and dashed up the stairs ahead of Charlie, whose shoulder Mrs Weasley caught in a death grip before he could escape too.

"Hang on just one second, Charlie dear." Mrs Weasley sounded dangerous, and Draco caught the sound of a fast, furious whispering as he ascended the second staircase.

Back in his room Draco slammed the door and laughed quietly to himself, picturing Charlie trying to explain to Mrs Weasley why they happened to be so very close to one another or why they were in quite so much bodily contact.

Draco felt fantastic. The fresh air, exercise and water had cheered him up endlessly, as had watching Charlie swim around topless for a few hours.

Not that he'd ever consider the ginger, but Draco could appreciate beauty when it jogged about in front of his face. Even when it came in a Weasley-coloured package. The twins were nothing to sneer at either, but for some reason something about them just screamed 'TOO STRAIGHT FOR YOU' while something about Charlie screamed 'AMBIGUOUS'.

Draco decided that he rather liked ambiguity.

They were on their way home now. Draco had taken off his shirt and wore it over his shoulder, vain enough to ignore the twins' jibes all the way home. Draco didn't even care; the fresh air felt too good on his damp skin.

He paused outside the back door of the Burrow, taking a few more precious lungfuls of fresh air before grudgingly allowing himself to be prodded inside by one of the twins.

Harry glanced up from the kitchen table where he had been polishing his broom. It wasn't a necessary task but it was calming somehow and it kept Mrs Weasley from busying him with jobs.

Framed in the doorway, with an irritated-looking twin on either side of him, was Draco. His grey tshirt was slung over his shoulder, meaning that Harry could see in full the body that had had countless girls in convulsions throughout their seven years at school.

It was _perfect_. Harry couldn't help but feel that he should be jealous, but somehow his brain seemed more interested in absorbing all of the data it could about the naked torso in front of him.

Draco's skin was pale, but not pasty or freckled. It was the pale that came of careful breeding and a hint of incest in the last couple of generations. It was a luminous white, smooth and matte like satin - with what looked like very solid, sinuous muscles underneath it. His ribs and hipbones were visible, a hint of his previous malnourishment and his genetic skinny-ness. His chest was entirely hairless apart from a barely visible trail of blond that plunged down into the waistband of his shorts.

Harry realised where his gaze had lead him and his eyes immediately shot back up to Draco's face, which was smirking. Thankfully he said nothing, merely raising one blond eyebrow and subtly flexing his biceps.

Harry, to his eternal shame, felt himself colouring - a warm blush crept up from the neck of his tshirt and around his ears. Out of desperation he turned back to his broom, polishing the end of the handle vigorously until he noticed that it looked like he was wanking it off and the amused way that Malfoy was watching him do it.

"Looks like you've had a lot of practice at polishing your broom, Potter." Draco muttered nonchalantly as he passed on his way upstairs, causing Harry to colour again.

Harry grit his teeth. He was _not_ going to let Malfoy do this to him. A retort formed in his mind and he turned to deliver it impressively, only to find that Malfoy had already gone.

_Fuuuuck._

Charlie shot him an infuriatingly knowing look across the table as he, Fred and George followed Draco up the stairs, leaving Harry alone with his broom.

Harry smacked his head down onto the solid wood table. Hard.

"Oww! Merlin's bollocks, ow!"

It wouldn't have been so bad if he hadn't already had a fight with Ginny in the aftermath of another unsuccessful bit of sexy time.

Still Harry was finding himself unable to keep it up - and when he managed, he hardly ever came. It was getting to the stage where he barely bothered to take his trousers off any more.

And Ginny was hysterical. Blaming herself, blaming him - begging him to tell what was wrong and then suddenly deciding that she didn't want to know.

Harry couldn't answer any of her questions; he didn't know what was going on. All he knew was that this morning when he'd jacked off in the shower, as he approached climax he'd found his thoughts wandering to Draco doing the very same thing in this very shower less than an hour before.

Draco apparently had similar showering habits to Harry - i.e. very late at night or very early in the morning, and this meant that Harry'd come across the sounds of Draco orgasming probably a few more times than he'd ever expected to.

It wasn't that Harry was gay, because he wasn't - he loved Ginny very much and he'd never had trouble getting it up before. Harry thought that maybe - just maybe - Draco coming here and being open and (even Harry had to admit) fucking sexy, had awakened a kind of curiosity in him that simply hadn't had an outlet before.

And there was nothing wrong with curiosity.

Curiosity was normal, to be expected even. He'd heard enough from Seamus and Parvati to know that same-sex exploration wasn't exactly unusual for people his age. Merlin, even Tonks had told him about one or two girlfriends she'd had over the years.

The _problem _was that it was affecting his sex life with his girlfriend. And that had had a much worse effect than he'd even anticipated it would - for a relationship that had consisted primarily of chaste kisses and slightly-above-average levels of bodily contact for about half a year, Harry's relationship with Ginny had come to rely very heavily on sex in the few months that they'd been at the Burrow.

And now, it seemed, that sex had been taken out of the equation (or at best heavily reduced), they could find nothing to do with each other that didn't involve some kind of argument.

And for the last couple of hours he'd been wondering... Maybe, maybe if he just explained the situation. Maybe Draco would help him out; a vent for his curiosity.

_It's the only way._

Harry knew that this wasn't strictly true; there had to be something else that could be done - otherwise everyone would just be fucking everyone else all the time. Perhaps it was more he didn't _want_ there to be another way.

_Ginny won't mind. I'm not gay._

The words became a mantra, one that sustained Harry through the next couple of hours until dinner.

"Harry, dear!" Mrs Weasley seemed pleased to see him, pausing in her stirring of a huge cauldron of stew.

"Would you mind giving me a hand, Harry? I've got some laundry for you and Ron." she lead him - quite unnecessarily - into the tiny laundry room and handed him a large pile of clothing; his own and Ron's jumbled together. As he turned to leave Mrs Weasley placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Actually Harry, there's something I wanted to run by you."

Harry turned slowly back around and forced a smile at Mrs Weasley, who looked rather nervous. Whatever this was about, he wasn't going to like it.

"Well, you see, Bill and Fleur are coming home for a while. We thought we ought to stick together for a bit - that's why Fred and George have come home, see. And, well, they're married, so they really need a room of their own..."

Harry nodded understandingly, still unable to see what this had to do with him.

"And, ah, well, Hermione and Ginny are already sharing, and Arthur and myself, and Fred and George obviously. Bill and Charlie usually share, so Charlie will go in with Percy, but we've been at wit's end trying to sort out Draco, Ron and yourself. We thought it might be unwise to put Ron and Draco together, and Ron's room really isn't big enough for three..."

Mrs Weasley paused, looking Harry directly in the eyes and finishing rather timidly. "We hoped that perhaps you and Draco could share Ron's room, and then Ron would go in with Percy and Charlie."

Harry blanched. Mrs Weasley mistook the reason and fluttered her hands fretfully; "I know you aren't the best of friends, but I'm just not comfortable with putting Draco in with Charlie and..." Mrs Weasley had gotten a hard look in her eye. Harry wondered whether to mention the fact that everyone would probably be safer if Draco shared with Hermione and Ginny, but he suspected that Mrs Weasley may disagree on principle.

Sharing with Draco...

It was intriguing. Certainly it would be annoying, what with the constant smoking and swearing and random arguments and Draco's seemingly innate ability to wind him up... But Harry couldn't shake the image of Draco's naked torso from his mind. Couldn't stop wondering if anything would happen - two angsty, horny boys cooped up in a small room.

Harry suppressed the feeling of apprehension and schooled his featured into a suitably grudging expression.

"No, no, Mrs Weasley, really. It's fine. I'm sure we'll be fine together."

Mrs Weasley beamed at him. "Excellent, if only Ron had your temper this would have been a lot easier. Thank you, Harry." She added, genuinely. Harry couldn't help but feel warm and fuzzy.

Now all they had to do was tell Draco.


	6. Lessons

A/N: So sorry for the delay, my friends! I don't think it counts as an excuse but my girlfriend decided that she just 'isn't gay after all'. Ohh, those crazy straight girls.  
>So awesome. Enjoy the chapter! I PROMISE sexy times is soon.<br>PROMISE. I've written the chapter and everyting : D  
>Cool bye xxxx<p>

Draco looked up through thick eyelashes and a haze of smoke at Mrs Weasley and Harry. They were standing next to the garden chair where Draco had practically taken up residence ever since Mrs Weasley had decided that he should be allowed into the garden unaccompanied.

"Share... With Potter?" Draco's voice curled deliberately around Harry's name, and smirking grey eyes met resolute green ones. Draco dropped his cigarette and stubbed it out under the toe of his boot. He then cocked his head and pouted his lip out in a caricature of contemplation, letting his gaze run up and down Harry's slight form in a way that made Mrs Weasley purse her lips.

Finally he smiled.

"Yeah, alright. I've been pretty bored recently; I could do with some entertainment."

The way he said 'entertainment' made Harry flush. He couldn't help it - even if it was just to get a rise out of Mrs Weasley.

"Wonderful." Mrs Weasley said, economically. "We'll get onto moving you all around tomorrow I think - best to get it done before Bill and Fleur get here." She sighed to herself, "I am sorry about this, boys. Still - can't be helped! Come and give me a hand with the dishes, would you?"

Harry - who had maintained steady eye contact with Draco for the duration of Mrs Weasley's speech - turned quickly and followed her inside, refusing to allow himself to turn back and glance at Draco, who was rising slowly from his chair.

_Share with Potter._

Draco watched the brunette trailing Mrs Weasley into the Burrow's kitchen, pulling out and lighting another cigarette - well, Mrs Weasley hadn't asked him to help _right now _- as he did so.

Draco wasn't modest. He hadn't missed the looks that Potter had been shooting him these past few days. He hadn't missed the increase in eye contact or the reluctant flushes that crept up Potter's neck whenever they had any kind of physical contact - however brief or inadvertent it may be.

And Draco wasn't oblivious either. He hadn't missed the seemingly worsening sexual situation between Potter and the Weaslette. And... He knew that Potter was attractive. Merlin; he was all over the witching magazines half of the time and all over the 'wizards-who-like-wizards' columns the other half. It had to be said; if Charlie Weasley was giving off 'ambiguous', Harry Potter was giving off 'I am definitely at least bisexual'.

Again, Draco had to ponder the intellect of Potter's long-suffering girlfriend.

And thinking about it... Draco found himself stifling a moan at the thought of _anyone_ - let alone the admittedly sexy Harry Potter - doing anything to his neglected knob.

A burning in his index and middle fingers alerted him to the fact that he'd let his cigarette burn down; a long cylinder of ash hanging precariously off the filter.

"Fuck!" Draco dropped the cigarette quickly, glancing at his fingers to assess the damage. He then glanced back at the house where one of the Identicals was mooning at him from a second floor landing. Draco gave a cough of surprised laughter, watching as the bare arse disappeared and was replaced with two grinning faces. Draco laughed and stuck two fingers up at them, strolling to the back door.

After another excellent dinner of sausage and mash, Draco was sitting in his room, enjoying his last moments of true solitude for the foreseeable future and contemplating the previous owner of the room. Draco felt close to Bill in a way that he couldn't explain; having used his love letters as wanking material and mentally abused his bed in ways that should probably never be vocalised. Despite his obvious interest in getting into Potter's room, Draco did value his privacy very highly and, he realised with an unwelcome thud, he was going to miss this room.

Merlin's bollocks, he was going soft.

Draco shook his head, before his thoughts were interrupted by a short, polite knock at his door. He sighed.

"Come in!"

Charlie appeared in the doorway, grinning broadly. "Mind if interrupt your wallowing?"

Draco rolled his eyes and spread his hands, indicating that he didn't mind at all.

Charlie strode in and sat down on Draco's bed comfortably, leaning his weight on his hands stretched out behind him. Draco raised an eyebrow slightly.

"Comfortable?"

Charlie chuckled, and Draco had to bite back a laugh as he always did when Charlie chuckled. It was just so bloody infectious.

"Yeah I am, cheers. Came to see how you were doing. I heard about the, er, arrangement that mum's come to."

Draco briefly considered the insanity of a Weasley coming to check how a Malfoy 'was doing' for no reason other than that he genuinely wanted to know, before replying with what he was sure was a slightly lascivious grin on his face.

"Ahh yes; our new living arrangements. Can't say I'm overly disappointed."

Charlie cocked an eyebrow. "Yes, I've been noting your interaction with the wee Potter lad for some time now, Mr Malfoy." For some reason Charlie had adopted a Scottish brogue not dissimilar to that of Professor McGonagall. Draco fought to keep his laughter under control.

"And what have you observed, Scottish Charlie?"

"I have observed," Charlie nodded his head at Draco in approval of his acknowledgement, "That the Potter lad has become increasingly queer of late." Charlie held up a very McGonagall-like finger at Draco's protests, "No offence meant, laddie. I'm simply informing you of my superior observations."

Draco shrugged and leant back in his chair; pulling out a cigarette and suddenly appearing disinterested. Charlie raised one eyebrow and leant forward so that his elbows were resting on his knees. Retaining his comic accent but adopting a more serious tone, he continued.

"Look, OK; I understand that these things happen. And if something was to happen between you and wee Potter I wouldn't really be surprised or mind. But - and this is possibly unfortunate for everyone involved - Harry is going out with my little sister, who is in love with him. So regardless of what I might think of the relationship, either you both get this thing out of your systems quickly, or you decide soon that you're in it for the long haul, and you tell her. 'Cause I am not having the wee Potter lad fucking my little sister around while he literally fucks you around. Is that nice and clear, pal?"

Draco, who had gone quite still, nodded and quickly exhaled a plume of smoke. "Crystal."

Charlie relaxed again, which in turn meant Draco could un-tense his right hand from where he'd had it clenched around his wand inside his pocket. Charlie ran a hand through his hair briskly and smiled apologetically. "Sorry mate. But family first..." he stopped, looking guilty. Draco sighed.

"Yeah. It's alright, I get it; _sane_ family first."

Charlie looked as though he wanted to give Draco a hug, but wasn't entirely sure of how to initiate it. In the end he got to his feet and crossed the room to stand in front of Draco, who was sitting in the desk chair.

"I may have said this before, but this entire situation is fucked. I really don't want to be a dick to you; you don't deserve it."

Draco widened his eyes. "I _know!_ But no one believes me when I tell them!"

Charlie chuckled, and Draco allowed himself to snigger along. Before he really knew what had happened, Charlie had pulled him upright and into a full-on hug, which Draco returned hesitantly.

"I'm trying my best to be a good mate to you. Just don't fuck with my little sister."

Draco grinned. "That will most definitely not be a problem."

Charlie grunted, and suddenly the hug turned into a restraining device from which Charlie was attempting to knee Draco in the balls.

It was this slightly compromising situation that Harry burst in upon, carrying a large pile of Draco's washing and looking disgruntled for a split second before he blushed bright red.

"Oh, er... I've got your washing... Was gonna take it up with me now 'cos... I'll just, actually, I'll just go-"

Charlie released Draco from the near-headlock that had resulted from their tussle and burst out laughing. "Don't worry, I was just trying to punch him in the bollocks," he paused contemplatively, "but he's too quick for me." Charlie turned and winked briefly at Draco. "I'll just be off then. Let you roomies sort out logistics."

Charlie strode out of the room without another word, leaving Harry and Draco alone, together, in a room, with a bed in it.

Almost simultaneously Harry and Draco realised that this awkwardness was what they'd just voluntarily agreed to live with for the next few weeks... at least.

Harry, still holding Draco's washing, realised he was doing so and looked around for a place to put it. The only options were the bed and the desk; both of which involved walking further into the room and one of which involved being in close proximity to Draco. Harry chose the bed. He dropped the clothes unceremoniously and turned to leave, almost making it to the door before he found himself turning around, his mouth starting to say things that hadn't necessarily been OK'd by his brain yet.

"Hey, Malfoy... Just... I don't want you staring at my arse, yeah?" Harry's eyes widened. Why had he said that?

Draco looked Harry up and down, raising an eyebrow. "I won't stare at your arse if you don't stare at mine, alright soldier?"

Harry couldn't help it, he blushed... and _almost_ stammered over his response. "I am _not_ going to be checking you out Malfoy." he managed to scoff.

Draco grinned even wider. "Then you haven't got anything to worry about. Now, go away, I'm off for a shower. Unless you want me to walk in front of you? Wouldn't do to have me ogling your arse, would it?"

Harry concentrated all of his will on forcing the blush in his cheeks to recede back down his neck and simply rolled his eyes, internally smacking his head against the doorframe for bringing up the topic of arses and ogling. Mainly because Harry knew he had no ground; he eye-raped Malfoy as much, if not more, than Malfoy eye-raped him. But also because he didn't really want to explore the rather disturbing possibility that he'd only said anything because he hadn't wanted to leave Draco's room so soon.

He was in for a long few weeks.

"Alright then, Draco. Is that everything?"

Draco shrugged the affirmative, giving the lone box of belongings at his feet a cursory glance. He hadn't been surprised, exactly, at his lack of belongings; it was more that now, having all his worldly possessions in front of him inside one small box, he felt suddenly forlorn. His life thus far had impressed the importance of physical wealth, the power of an accumulation of expensive _stuff,_ upon him very vigorously. Now that his physical wealth stood at about 5 galleons (his inheritance and access to the Malfoy vault presumably impenetrably sealed), and his accumulation of expensive stuff came down to his wand, his Italian leather shoes and his cape, Draco was feeling just that; forlorn. Forlorn, and rather at a loss as to what he was supposed to be showing the world (what he was allowed to see of it). If it wasn't his stupendous wealth and the causal arrogance of said wealth, what impact was he making in the world?

It came down to this rather pitiable box.

Draco levitated said box a few feet off the ground, and guided it up the stairs in front of him, forcing himself to keep his eyes on the stairs, and not the door at the top of them behind which he knew Potter was waiting. Mrs Weasley was bustling along behind him.

"Goodness Draco, I hadn't realised you had so little. I'll have to dig out some more old robes for you. I hope you don't mind having to wear our hand-me-downs but you understand that it's rather difficult for any of us to get to Diagon Alley these days." she sighed as they reached the top of the house, and squeezed past him to open the door. Potter and his sidekick were sitting on their respective beds - well, Weasley was sprawled across his - wearing similarly disgruntled expressions. Weasley's was directed at Draco, but Potter's was, interestingly, directed at Weasley.

Before Draco had time to examine the situation fully, the Sidekick rolled onto his feet, and directed his words at his mother.

"Oh, so is this where I get kicked out of my own room?"

Mrs Weasley pursed her lips, "Ronald, you are not being thrown out of your room. You'd be welcome to stay in your own room if you'd agree to share with Draco."

The Sidekick became enraged. "Not a bloody chance! I should at least be entitled to chose who gets to stay in my room, and I don't want that slimy git anywhere near it!"

"_Ronald!_" Mrs Weasley said, quietly and furiously. Potter and Weasley shrank back, and Draco stepped back slightly. "That is no way to talk about our guest." She was gathering volume and speed quickly, "Need I remind you that we are _facing war?_ Stop being so childish, honestly, Ginny's being more accommodating and she's younger than you!"

"Only by a year!" Ron interrupted, looking utterly outraged at the injustice of it all.

Mrs Weasley glared at him. "And you'd think she was older! If you can't act your age I'll have to reconsider allowing you to drop out of school this year! Get yourself down to Percy's room _immediately._"

Weasley paled, and backed away a couple of steps. "You wouldn't. You couldn't. I can't go back, I'm a blood traitor! They'll rip me apart! I'm a bloody adult, mother! I can make my own choices!"

Mrs Weasley's eyes narrowed to slits, "If you wanted to be treated as an adult, I suggest you start behaving like one." Ron looked as though he might protest, but Mrs Weasley simply pointed to the stairs. Weasley grabbed a couple of boxes by the door as he backed out slowly. He was halfway down the stairs when he came barreling back up them, pointing an accusing finger at Draco,

"Do not even _think _about sleeping in my bed, Ferret."

Draco smirked. "Not for all the gold in Gringotts, Weasley."

Unsure of whether he was happy with this answer or not, Weasley shot a forlorn look at Potter and slammed the door behind him.

After a brief pause, Draco said conversationally; "So... where am I sleeping?"

Potter looked directly into Draco's eyes with more force and confidence than Draco had expected, and the blond was temporarily floored. Oblivious to the awkward moment, Mrs Weasley turned to face Harry.

"Harry dear-? It's up to you, I expect Ron will come round." she got a hard look in her eye that hinted that Ron _would_ 'come round', whether he wanted to or not.

Potter seemed to shake himself before answering. "Oh... No, it's ok, I s'pose."

Mrs Weasley beamed at Potter, and Draco found himself astounded at the speed at which she could change emotions.

"Oh thank you, dear, that's very kind. I'll just go and fetch some clean sheets from the laundry. I'll leave you to get settled in." She smiled at both boys again, before turning around and shutting the door softly behind her.

Draco stiffened slightly at the sound, realising that, once again, he and Potter were alone together, in a room, with a bed in it.

Two beds, in fact, one of which Draco now approached, unable to stop himself from giving Potter a wide berth as he did so. He sat down on the pale blue bed sheets and bounced slightly. He turned to face Potter.

"Nice spring action." he attempted to school his features into an appropriately lascivious expression but they just wouldn't go, settling instead into 'nervous teasing'. Potter seemed to be having an easier time of it, and smirked.

"Yeah, I've noticed."

Draco almost felt himself blushing with the implications and at the sudden-role reversal. He suddenly realised that Potter was comfortable here in his room, on his home turf. Draco was at a disadvantage, and he was not enjoying it.

Harry walked around to Weasley's bed, walking stiflingly close to Draco even in the small room, his trouser leg inadvertently brushing against Draco's knee as he passed. Draco bit the inside of his cheek imperceptibly, brain scrambling unpleasantly for a witty retort...

Any retort...

A comment on the weather?

_Anything?_

Harry sat down on Ron's bed, raising his eyebrows at Draco's lack of reply, and bounced experimentally. He sighed theatrically.

"Can't say the same here." he looked at his own bed. "I might have to break the rules; I'm going to miss my bed."

That did it. Draco blushed a delicate pink, and angrily tried to fight it down. It wasn't his fault; Harry had said "_Break the rules" _in such an innocently naughty way. It just wasn't right.

Harry looked delighted and surprised at the effect of his words, and started to stand. "Malfoy, are you-?"

"Here we go!" Mrs Weasley's bright voice broke the tension as she bustled in, carrying a pile of sheets. She handed a set each to Harry and Draco, and smiled warmly at both of them. "Thanks so much for this again, boys, really."

Draco was internally pummelling his head into the floor as he smiled vaguely back at Mrs Weasley. Harry grinned at his surrogate mother;

"No worries, Molly."

Mrs Weasley gave them an indulgent look. "Honestly; if only my boys were so mature." she went to the doorway and turned back once more; "Dinner's at six. We're eating outside; there just won't be enough room for everyone in the kitchen once Bill and Fleur are here." she sighed and left the room, shutting the door quietly behind her.

Harry glanced at Draco, who studiously avoided his gaze; instead raising his wand and wordlessly charming his sheets to arrange themselves on his bed. Draco caught Harry's surprised look and shrugged, not offering any more explanation before he bolted from the room, stopping only to check his pockets for his cigarettes and lighter.

Harry sat on his unmade bed and sighed. Perhaps one day Draco would teach him that spell.

He couldn't explain why, but the fact that Draco knew a spell to make his own bed affected Harry in a way that even the Slytherin's defection had not. Draco would have had to go out of his way to learn that spell; it wasn't taught at school to Harry's knowledge. He had obviously thought it might come in useful one day... when there was no house elf to make his bed for him.

Harry lay back on his bed, and, for the first time in his life, wished he smoked.

Perhaps Draco could teach him how to do that, as well.


	7. Contradiction

**Hello, hello, one and all!**

**Thank you all so much for the favouriting and story-alerting and favourite-authoring and so on... You guys are so, so awesome :) obviously my reviewers, you cheer me up endlessly and inspire me to write the sexy times, so thank you on behalf of myself and probably everyone here because you're all perverts. But not really. Except that you are.**

**In case that wasn't clear, _here be sex-type shenanigans_. To those of you who are allergic to smut and heterosexual relations, you have been warned.**

**So yeah, cool. Enjoy.**

**And for the love of God, review. Even if you hated/felt indifferent to it. Pleasee?**

**And sorry for massive A/N, I'm feeling cheerful :D**

**Xxx**

Draco sat at the head of the kitchen table in the Burrow's kitchen, surrounded by generally hostile-looking members of the Order of the Phoenix. He had been deemed stable enough for them to question him - under the influence of Veritaserum, of course.

Most of the membership was no surprise:

Lupin; the bloody werewolf teacher from a few years ago.

Dedalus Diggle; a notorious crackpot.

All of the Weasleys - including the elusive Bill who was actually quite surprisingly good looking. And-

Merlin's tits, was that Aunt 'Dromeda's kid, the metamophmagus? She had pink hair and the Black family mouth, so that ruled out most other people in the world...

And, oh, she winked at him. And mouthed "We're related!"

So yes, that was probably his cousin.

Mad-Eye was here. The real one presumably, though from what he'd heard of the Order they were probably incompetent enough to allow a die-hard Death Eater into their midst - Snape was proof enough of that.

To be fair, though, most of what Draco had heard about the Order had come through his father, or his fathers' friends. And most of what _they _knew about the Order had come from torturing people who had nothing, or at best very little, to do with it. Looking at it factually the Order had done very well at keeping their identities and meeting places quiet until Snape resurfaced.

Ron grumbled to life, "I still can't understand why you couldn't take him to Grimm- ow! Bloody hell, what was that for?"

Mad-Eye, who had just hit Ron with his stick, barked out, "Shut up, boy. Are you thick? Don't mention that place in front of him. It's beyond me why Kingsley chose to even bring him here; he could've just as well stayed in the cells."

Molly intervened, shooting a disconcertingly warm glance at Draco, "Now don't be ridiculous, Alastor. He's been here for nearly three weeks; he couldn't very well have stayed in the cells that long." she paused, "And besides, he's been the perfect guest. I dare say he's been more of a help than these two." she nodded her head at Harry and Ron, who immediately resisted.

"Oi, woman! I've peeled a damn sight more potatoes than Fred and George together!" Ron said, outraged.

"Of course he has!" Moody roared, cutting off Harry and Ron. "Of course he's been helpful, and polite, and harmless, and every-bloody-thing else." Moody's face had gone red with exertion, and flecks of spittle flew from his mouth in hazardous directions. Draco had the horrible suspicion that some had flown into his eye.

Moody continued regardless; "He'll carry on 'til he's got you well and truly sucked in, and then he'll murder the lot of you and take every damn scrap of information he's got on us back to Voldemort!"

Draco flinched at the name. He couldn't help it. Potter glanced at him and smirked - oh yeah, the Boy Who Lived didn't fear the name. Of course he bloody didn't; he'd never seen the damage that name could do up close. No, Potter had only seen the big-scale, the grandiose, theatrical exclamations of power that the Dark Lord liked to orchestrate. Draco felt his face sink into a frown.

No one but the Death Eaters and their victims saw the grotty, small-scale cruelty that happened every day. Tiny torture chambers that littered Death Eater houses, secret murders in alleys and houses five feet from well-lit roads. Draco felt his anger rising, bubbling up with the words and memories. Potter hadn't seen a person break. Potter hadn't _made _a person break. Potter hadn't seen the look a person gains when they realise that they really are going to die in a dirty hellhole, slowly and painfully - and that you're the one who's going to do it.

Draco doubted if any of them had ever had that kind of hate directed at them or felt that kind of guilt. And regardless of the wand pointed at the back of his head while he did it, Draco had. Draco did. And Draco had, to a point, after a while, been able to just ignore it. The screaming, that is.

And that's what was making his insides boil and his head split; the guilt, the guilt, the guilt.

And what had Potter seen? The end product; dead bodies.

Draco resurfaced, and realised that his wand had been shooting silver sparks of its own accord as he held it clenched in his fist. The witches and wizards squeezed around the small table were staring at him as if he was a mouldy flobberworm.

Granger looked like she was going to burst with the force of what she wanted to say - well she'd just have to wait. Draco had known this speech was coming, he had it sort of planned, but the force of his anger lead him to direct his diatribe mainly at Harry, instead of at the entire group as he had planned.

"Do _not _fucking smirk at me, Potter. You want to know why I don't like hearing his name? Because he's a monster, and that's all his name represents to me. I don't say it just to sound cool, like I'm not bothered. I know better than you the kind of disgusting things that creature does. Have you ever watched a mud-... muggle-born bleed to death suspended over your dining room table? Well, I have. Have you ever seen crying muggle babies looking for the mother that you just murdered? Watched Bellatrix laugh as she kills them? Have you ever tortured anyone into insanity?" Draco turned to Moody. "That's why I left, you mental bastard. I got out. Why the fuck would I want to go back?"

Once the Dark Lord realised that the youngest Malfoy did not have his aunt's penchant for (or even his father's tolerance of) torture and murder, Draco supposed that he had become the Dark Lord's little project;

"How many people can we make Draco kill before he breaks?"

Well, the answer was 83, and he hoped that the Dark Lord was disappointed.

As he fought back extremely unwelcome tears, (of anger. Of anger, dammit!) he felt Charlie grip his forearm, once, tight, under the table. He glanced over at the red-head whose face was mask-like and strained, but strong.

Reassured, Draco faced the rest of the Order with renewed control over his unusually rebellious tear ducts.

Granger looked pretty much speechless, which made a nice change. Potter's Sidekick looked disgusted and angry. The Weaslette, Fred and George were looking at him with a new sort of vague sympathy that he was not sure he wanted. Mrs Weasley was in tears. Mr Weasley was rubbing her back slowly, and when he caught Draco's eye he made steady eye contact. Those who looked as though they had probably been in the previous war - Professor Lupin, a couple of women and Dedalus Diggle - looked mainly weary; unsurprised but less tense.

Kingsley, who was standing in the corner, looked as calm and unshakeable as ever. Potter was watching Draco intently; half-glaring, half appraising. His eyes also held a twinge of sympathy, which infuriated Draco.

"Look," he said, frustrated, "I don't want your bloody sympathy..."

"Don't you?" Lupin muttered quietly. Draco glared at him before continuing.

"I just want you to understand that I'm not going back. And _you,_" Draco turned back to face Harry directly, "Need to fully understand what you're trying to kill. The Dark Lord is reliant on terror; on the small things. You need to understand how that works or you're going to get sucked into it and this will all turn to shit. And I've got names of people he's targeting, which might help. I mean; unless he's already killed them all anyway, which is possible... But if we're making a deal, that's what I'm offering in return for a relatively safe place to live."

Mrs Weasley started, "Oh Draco, of cour-"

"Wait!" Moody growled. "I'd like a list of these names you claim to have right now." He summoned a sheaf of parchment and self-inking quill from somewhere within his huge cloak. "I'd also like this agreement made clear in writing and an Unbreakable vow that you'll never knowingly do" - Moody looked pointedly at Draco - "_He Who Shall Not Be Named_'s bidding again. I'd also like to see some more pertinent memories, we'll have to get hold of a Pensieve for that." Moody glanced briefly at Kingsley, who nodded. He then turned to face Mrs Weasley. "And why the hell are you letting the kid share a room with Potter?"

* * *

><p>"Malfoy?"<p>

"..."

"Malfoy?"

"..."

"Malfoy?"

"What, Potter?" Draco tilted his head up from where he'd been resting it on one arm curled behind his head.

Harry looked slightly nervous framed in the doorway; scuffing one shoe almost imperceptibly against the doorframe and swinging the open door back and forth absently with one hand. "I'm meant to ask you how you are."

Draco laid his head back against his arm. "That's nice."

Harry hesitated for a second, until it became clear that Malfoy was not going to answer. "So, Malfoy?"

Draco had now shut his eyes, mainly because if he could see Potter's 'pissed off' face he wasn't going to be able to contain his laughter. "So what, Potter?"

Harry exhaled slowly and willed himself not to rise to the tosser's childish teasing; "So, are you _alright, _Malfoy?"

Draco tilted his head up to look at Potter - who looked suitably angry - and smiled brightly. "I'm just excellent, Potter. Now piss off, I'm trying to mentally recuperate after listening to Mad-Eye shout at me for twenty minutes. And from the experience of making an Unbreakable vow with you, of all people." Draco's tone faltered at the end; an unbidden memory of clasping slightly clammy palms with Potter and the thin red burn marks on his own right hand that would align perfectly with the ones on Potter's if they so chose to clasp hands again-

For some reason, Draco's tone invited Harry further into the room.

"What? Are you insinuating that you would have rather made an Unbreakable vow with anyone else in the world? I'm shocked, Malfoy!" Harry took a couple more steps into the room and swung the door shut with a bang.

_What the actual fuckballs are you doing, Potter? _A voice deep within Harry screamed. Harry chose to ignore the voice.

"Maybe not _anyone- _don't get too excited, Potty, but I will admit that I'd rather you than your bloody ginger lapdog."

"Don't talk about my girlfriend like that." Harry countered hotly.

Draco raised one delighted eyebrow; "Who said anything about the she-Weasel? I was referring to Ronald; your trusty sidekick."

Harry felt his ears begin to burn; half anger, half embarrassment.

Draco gave Harry an infuriatingly smug look before dropping his head back against his arm; clearly considering the conversation over.

Harry - who felt as though Malfoy had taken the last word in rather too many of their arguments - folded his arms and tried desperately to think of a clever retort over the anger throbbing through his head.

Unfortunately, the only ones he could think of were either extremely homophobic or based on insulting his mother, both of which were presumably rather sore topics.

Instead he said, "Why do you insist on being such an complete twat all the time, Malfoy? Do you enjoy being disliked by the people you live with?"

Malfoy shrugged, "It doesn't particularly bother me. Being disliked is far easier than being liked - and a lot more entertaining." He added the last words with an evil smirk that didn't quite match the expression in his eyes or body language.

Despite himself, Harry felt a reluctant surge of sympathy for the boy in front of him. Clobbering his better judgement smartly round the head, the part of Harry that would have made quite a good Hufflepuff made an appearance;

"I don't really dislike you, Malfoy. At this point it's more of a... a sort of annoyed indifference."

(Well, I did say _quite _a good Hufflepuff.)

Malfoy snorted inelegantly, "I can't be doing a very good job of being a 'complete twat' then, can I?" Malfoy looked sideways at Harry through half-open eyes. "And you can't be annoyed and indifferent; it's oxymoronic."

Harry - who had a slightly more limited literary vocabulary - countered; "Did you really just call me moronic?"

Draco sniggered infuriatingly, "Essentially. Now, for the love of Merlin; _please. fuck. off."_

Harry, furious with himself for once again letting Malfoy dictate the outcome of their conversations, made the economic decision that perhaps he ought to cut and run now while he still had his dignity (relatively). Wondering blithely where his former confidence had scurried off to and how he could convince it to come back; he turned sharply and exited the room, running straight into Ginny who had apparently been waiting outside.

"Oh, er, hullo Gin."

She grinned at him, "Hi. I thought you might need a bit of cheering up." She explained without Harry's asking, "Is it just me, or has Malfoy become even more of a prat since he got here?"

Harry grinned, and ran a hand through his hair. "It's possible, or maybe it's just because we actually have to come into contact with the bastard more than is healthy."

Ginny laughed, and slid her arms around his neck. "Maybe he's _frustrated_." she waggled her eyebrows, grinning. Harry sniggered and relaxed into the familiarity of chatting to Ginny about things they had a mutual disliking for. (Malfoy being fairly high up that list.)

He nearly didn't notice the hand that was creeping slowly down his chest, down, down...

"Gin-" he choked out, about to ask what she was doing when her other hand came up to cover his mouth, a cheeky glint in her eye.

"Shh," she took the hand covering his mouth away, "might as well live dangerously - besides, Malfoy might enjoy the show." She jerked her head at the closed door beside them and, a Cheshire cat grin splitting her face, dropped to her knees as Harry felt himself begin to swell.

Shamefully, the thought that Malfoy could probably hear them through the door was turning Harry on in a way that both surprised and excited him.

_Maybe this I what I need, _he though vaguely, Ginny's hands working on undoing his fly, _maybe... Maybe..._

At this point, coherent thought flew out of his head, because he had glanced down in time to see Ginny giving his cock a long, slow lick from base to tip. He grunted and threw his head back, hands wrapping themselves in Ginny's long hair as he tried to restrain himself from simply grabbing her face to him and fucking it.

Ginny's hand wrapped around his hip as the other one came up to cup his balls, and she licked all over the weeping head of his cock, before sucking it gently into her mouth. Harry moaned. On the other side of the door, the bed springs creaked, and the anticipation in Harry's stomach tightened unbearably.

Ginny, pleased with the reaction, slid her mouth as far down Harry's cock as she could manage comfortably, and swallowed. Harry's hands tightened in her hair and she grasped the base of his cock with her hand, pumping in time with long, deep sucks on his cock. She massaged his balls gently in her other hand, and Harry gasped as her teeth gently scraped against the underside of his dick, tongue laving over the sensitive area wildly.

Harry tried to get her to speed up, tugging gently and ineffectually on her hair, desperate to get off before someone saw them. But Ginny refused; her deep, noisy sucks on his now rock-hard dick sounded somehow lascivious and Harry's cock throbbed with the thought of what Malfoy was hearing. Ginny seemed to realise where his thoughts were and suddenly took him in to her mouth almost to the root; swallowing convulsively to prevent herself from gagging and causing Harry to cry out in shock. So much heat, so wet, everywhere, oh Merlin-

And Ginny began to suck him in earnest now, her hand resuming its position around the base of his cock and setting a counter rhythm to her tight, noisy slurps. Harry was moaning indiscriminately; one hand holding Ginny's hair firmly to his cock and guiding her movements faster, faster, the other had a death-grip on the doorframe, desperate to hold himself up on his shaking legs for just a little longer as his sense of the world boiled down to one point; the warm mouth around his aching cock.

Pleasure mingled with adrenaline and anticipation in his stomach, coiling into a ball of frantic lust, taking him almost to the edge and back again, only to bring him up once more. He teetered desperately on the knife edge, unable to cross the threshold, desperately clutching at the willing face in front of him to bring him higher, just a little higher, _-_

Creaking bed springs from behind the door reminded him of his audience, and suddenly very indecent images of Malfoy - mouth tight in concentration, hand pumping furiously over his own member - blurred into Harry's mind, sending a twinge of surprised lust through Harry's cock and streams of hot cum into Ginny's mouth.

Harry bit his abused lower lip to stifle his euphoric groans, and barely noticed in his post-orgasmic glow as Ginny did his trousers back up, and stood to kiss him. He barely even noticed as Ginny chuckled, an elated look on her flushed face, and patted him on the cheek as she left.

What he _did_ notice, was that the image that had finally pushed him over the straining edge into the golden abyss was not that of his beautiful girlfriend sucking his cock; it was of the boy in the room next door doing naughty things to himself.

The boy next door (who had just finished doing naughty things to himself), tucked himself back inside his robes and sighed, the mental image of the boy outside receiving a blowjob fading from where it had burnished itself against his eyelids as he came.


	8. Discovery

**Yo yo yo what's up?  
>I'm sorry. There's no sob story this time. No excuses other than that I've been busy as a bee and literally just haven't had the motivation to write anything for... well. However long it's been. A long time.<br>A couple of months ago Bookwoman17NerdyMom sent a review that simply said 'More!', which served the purpose of poking me in the arse and so you have her to thank for the fact that this chapter is here even now.  
>Thanks Bookwoman17NerdyMom! You rule!<br>I still love you all! Promise! Therefore review please? Because the inspiration from those reviews powers my brain, and without review power you will never get to see Drarry sex. During which (SPOILERS!) Draco may well bottom for Harry.**

**You have been warned.  
>Huge AN is over, enjoy!**

**TheGreenEyedIdiot xx**

Of course it would have been stupid for Draco to forget about his parents.

So, naturally, he had.

Or, rather, he had not forgotten the threat they posed; more shoved it so far into the back of his mind that what with the daily chores and wondering what the Golden Trio kept sneaking off to do all the time that thoughts of his probable impending doom seemed fairly benign.

The letter arrived the next morning via an officious-looking Ministry owl. Thick parchment with Draco's full name written in purple ink on the front. Draco found himself staring at it blankly for a second, before one of the twins elbowed him in the side.

"Don't mean to interrupt, but this seems an odd time to be practicing wandless magic."

The other twin interjected - "We've often found that letters are easy enough to open by hand - but it's up to you."

Draco glared half-heartedly at them, but found he couldn't keep his eyes off the curve of the 'y' in 'Malfoy' for very long. Mrs Weasley, who had been feeding the Ministry owl some toast, came and sat down next to Draco, and put her hand over his. He managed not to snatch it back in disgust, simply focusing his gaze on Mrs Weasley's plump hand until she removed it.

"Probably best just to open it, dear." Mrs Weasley, undeterred, had that infuriating sympathetic gleam in her eye again.

Draco snatched the envelope off the table and worked his thin fingers under the Ministry seal on the back. Who did this letter think it was, trying to intimidate a Malfoy?

The cold thought that he very well may not _be_ a Malfoy any more slithered down his spine and took up residence in his stomach.

The seal ripped open, Draco unhesitatingly pulled the letter from its confines, unfolded it and read.

And read it again. Then he turned it over to check there was nothing on the back.

Then read it again for good measure, and promptly stood up, knocking his chair over backwards in the process.

"Right. Well, alright. Ok. I think I'll go and have a shower, then."

He walked swiftly from the room, leaving Mr and Mrs Weasley, the twins and Percy behind him. Fred's hand crept stealthily across the table to read the letter, but Mrs Weasley was quicker and smacked Fred sharply across the back of the hand.

"Fred Weasley! You put that down. Honestly, you know it's impolite to read other people's letters without their consent."

"You take the fun out of everything," Fred grumbled "Besides, what if it's secret information from You-Know-Who?"

"Oh, don't be ridiculous, Fred." Mrs Weasley waved her wand and levitated the remaining breakfast dishes into the sink. "And I'm sure he'll tell us if it's anything important." She added, doubtfully.

* * *

><p>Charlie discovered Draco at the end of the garden four hours later.<p>

"If I didn't know better I would have said you were hiding." he said lightly, ducking into the hollow Draco had made in the dense greenery.

"How lucky that you do know better, then. You've saved me an explanation." Draco felt suddenly childish as Charlie sat down next to him.

Despite himself the blond felt his bad mood lift slightly as Charlie batted away a gnome that was making a valiant attempt at stealing his boot.

The gnome flipped his middle finger at the pair before scampering off into the thicket. Charlie watched it fondly, Draco uninterestedly.

"Friendly little bastards, aren't they?" Charlie shot a quick glance at Draco, "I can't imagine how you can be in a bad mood with the gnomes around to brighten your day."

Draco aimed a kick at a nearby horklump, and missed. He internally blamed his ill-fitting Weasley shoes rather than anything to do with Charlie's presence.

Silence descended. Charlie employed his idle hands in unravelling a loose thread in his cuff, while Draco stared at his knees.

"They cut me off, you know." The words tumbled out of the blond's mouth without warning.

Charlie rolled his head around to look at Draco silently.

"Yeah, I'm not a Malfoy any more. I don't actually _have_ a surname any more. Can't get into the house, can't get into the vault... My blood status is officially 'unknown'." Draco felt his eyes becoming prickly and quickly screwed a fist against them. Charlie's hand came to rest across his back.

"I'm technically an orphan. That's what the letter said. 'Henceforth you will be considered legally orphaned'."

Draco removed his hand from his face slowly, frustrated by the wetness around his eyes. He met Charlie's gaze, silently asking the older boy to say something. Charlie shrugged slightly.

"That's really shit, mate. I wish there was something to say other than that I'm sorry."

Draco rolled his eyes slightly, "Don't be sorry, Weasley. You're not the idiot who stabbed himself in the arm for a _boy._"

Charlie grabbed the offending limb and pulled it closer, pushing up the sleeve to reveal a slightly ragged scar and a weak, grey Dark Mark. He brushed his thumb over the remnants of the tattoo as Draco hissed uncomfortably.

"Now, I know you're not talking about yourself. Because all I can see is a man who was brave enough to do whatever it took... for a _boy_."

Draco snorted, and Charlie conceded.

"Though I will admit that self-preservation probably played a part in your decision, shut up. Let me have my romantic delusion."

Draco gave a weak imitation of his smirk and withdrew his arm slowly. Charlie squeezed Draco's fingers briefly as they slid through his hands.

* * *

><p>"Oh the poor boy! How could his parents..?" Molly Weasley lamented.<p>

Arthur put a hand on his wife's shoulder and rubbed it soothingly. Charlie had just finished telling the assembled Weasleys etc. about Draco's plight.

"Well, the evidence always indicated that they were slimy buggers," Fred said.

"Just another mark on the 'Lucius Malfoy is a Bastard' tally in my head." George nodded.

"Amen." Ginny muttered.

"It's not exactly a surprise for him, is it?" Ron was looking uncomfortable. "I mean, what was he expecting?"

Charlie looked at his youngest brother, "Doesn't make it any less of a shit when it happens, though."

"Charlie!"

"Sorry mum."

"What do we call him now, then?" Ron asked generally.

"His name?" Hermione's reply was loaded with sarcasm.

Ron looked slightly violated. "I can't call him... _Draco._ That's disgusting. Can't I just call him 'You' or 'Ferret'?"

"Only if I can call you 'Weasel'." Draco had returned.

"Deal." Ginny said immediately, holding out her hand to shake on it, before her mother batted it away. Ginny grinned wickedly at Draco who felt his minimal liking for the girl lessen slightly more.

The rest of the room had gone comparatively silent.

"I just came down for a drink, please don't stop discussing me on my behalf." Draco squeezed through the kitchen to the sink, where Mrs Weasley fell on him.

Emotionally, not physically, that is. That would be weird.

"Draco, I hope you know that whatever your parents have seen fit to do, you will not be turned away from this house for any of your, erm, personality traits."

She probably would have said more, but Draco was looking desperately uncomfortable and as though he wanted to say something like "Not even if I murder someone?" Or possibly "I don't have parents".

Instead he managed; "Er, thank you Mrs Weasley."

Mrs Weasley was looking a bit watery-eyed but she let go of him and nodded. "Alright, well. Just so you know."

Draco nodded awkwardly and forced his way back out of the kitchen, pausing to eavesdrop just outside the closed door.

"Harry dear, would you go and check on him in a little while?"

"What?" Potter sounded surprised, and Draco sniggered quietly. "Er, I mean, yeah."

Mrs Weasley sighed. "I'm just worried about him. Poor boy doesn't have anything."

Eavesdropping was quickly losing its charm. Draco scowled at the obvious pity in her voice and decided to cut and run, his mothers words echoing into his head; 'Listeners never hear any good of themselves'.

The scowl deepened when he remembered that Narcissa Malfoy was _not _his mother.

* * *

><p>Draco had been waiting, lying flat on his back on his bed, for longer than he would have liked. <em>Why <em>exactly he was still waiting, why he hadn't gone down for dinner, why he was suffering from a dead leg and desperately needing a piss was unclear at this time. Perhaps he was in shock.

Then the stair creaked.

"Firewhiskey?"

Draco's head rolled around to face him. "Did you honestly just phrase that as a question?"

Harry snorted, "No offence, but you really look like you need it." Potter was leaning against the doorframe, looking decidedly languid. No sign of the promised firewhiskey though.

Draco grunted sarcastically, "Well, that is a startlingly original line. Are you trying to get me drunk, Potter?"

Harry rolled his eyes and summoned a bottle of Ogden's finest and two glasses from the back of the rickety wardrobe. "Yeah, you know me. Always trying to get you drunk."

Draco watched quietly as Harry sat down on his bed, poured them each a generous measure of whiskey, and put the stopper back in the bottle.

They drank silently for a second before Draco spoke, the heat of the alcohol blazing a trail of courage down the back of his throat and into his stomach.

"Tha- er, cheers for this, Potter."

Harry looked at him curiously, catching the blond's eye for a second before they both looked away.

"No worries. All in the job description."

Draco snorted as he went to take another sip, "I wouldn't have said that this was _exactly_ what Mrs Weasley intended you to do." He froze, aware that he'd just blown his cover of ignorance.

Harry seemed to ignore it; shrugged and grinned lopsidedly, "Perhaps not. But I wanted to, in a manner of speaking."

Draco's eyes jumped to Harry's face again, to find it split with silent laughter. Draco rolled his eyes and shuffled up his bed to lean against the wall.

"I'm not a big believer in the phrase 'In a manner of speaking'." Draco said.

"Well," Harry shot back, laughter in his eyes. "you take up too much space when you mope. This is a small room. I had to do something."

Draco narrowed his eyes and knocked back his whole drink, summoning the whiskey bottle and pouring another large measure into his now empty glass. Harry simply laughed.

"Are you trying to drink all my booze to be a dick? That's fine by me; you'll probably be less annoying if you're passed out." Harry tipped the contents of his glass into his mouth, swallowed, grimaced, and poured himself another drink in exact imitation of Draco before him.

Draco sighed and pulled out his packet of cigarettes, tapping the box with his wand so that it opened and one cigarette presented itself above the rim of the box, where Draco bent down to grasp it between his lips and drag it out of the packet. His head lolled back languidly against the wall and he lit up with the end of his wand.

He glanced over at Harry, expecting an immediate telling off, only to find that Potter's eyes were glued to his lips. He exhaled and twitched his mouth experimentally, and Potter's eyes flew up to meet Draco's. The Gryffindor's skin was slightly flushed.

Harry got to his feet, and, instead of the diatribe Draco was expecting, took a step towards Draco's bed.

"Could you teach me?" Harry said, croakily.

"What?" Draco frowned, confused at the turn of events.

"Could you teach me, y'know," Harry cleared his throat, "to smoke?"

Draco scolded his subconscious for the strange images involving Draco as teacher and Harry as naughty schoolboy, and nodded vigorously. Maybe too vigorously. Who knew? Who cared? Not Potter, that's for sure. And not Draco, either.

Draco was aware that his inner narrative was becoming convoluted.

"Er," he said aloud, "alright." Draco's voice had become curiously scratchy, and he was fairly sure it wasn't from the smoke. "Come the fuck on then." He patted the bed beside him with slightly slurred vigour.

His attempt to inject some characteristic impatience into the situation had mixed results; while it meant that the talk had ceased, it meant that the physical touchy-feely-ness had significantly increased, because Potter had interpreted Draco's over-enthusiastic gesticulating to mean "Come and sit on my bed quite close to me"... And for some reason Draco just couldn't tell him to _move the fuck away_.

Draco almost handed Harry his cigarette packet before deciding that he didn't want to waste a whole cigarette on someone who probably wouldn't even be inhaling properly. He plucked his own, lit cigarette from his mouth and handed it to Harry.

"Now, the trick is to inhale twice. Once to here," he touched his own throat, "and then to here," he touched the centre of his own chest, slightly above the heart. He grinned slightly. "Try not to choke."

Harry took the cigarette that Draco handed to him, and held it slightly uncomfortably between the index and middle finger on his left hand.

Draco almost told him it would feel less awkward if he held it in his wand hand, before realising that he didn't give a fuck.

Carefully avoiding Draco's eye, Harry took a small drag on the cigarette, careful to inhale twice as Draco had told him.

He choked.

Draco whacked him on the back quite hard.

"If it makes you feel any better, I did exactly the same thing - and I probably looked worse doing it." It was out of his mouth before he'd had a chance to stop it. Draco cursed Firewhiskey and Potter and inanely green eyes and all these bloody _Gryffindors _all over the bloody place making him have sensations in his upper body and... Shit.

Harry's eyes widened, spectacularly not hearing the second part of Draco's admission over his amazement at the first. Harry felt stupid for not realising that Draco hadn't always known how to do things like this and that someone else must have taught him.

A rising wave of... of- what? Anger? Jealousy? That was ridiculous. He met Draco's eyes slowly, the silver surprised as they took in the green's intensity.

Harry tried inhaling twice more, each time he choked and had to be whacked on the back until he recovered - or that appeared to be Draco's opinion.

As he was about to try again, though, a large pale hand reached out to halt him.

"You might- ah, well, some people find it easier if you do it like _this,"_

Draco took the dying cigarette from Harry's limp grasp and inhaled deeply, dropping the end in a nearby mug. Then he grasped either side of Harry's face firmly, who froze up like a rabbit. Draco, feeling this, made a noise of annoyance and brought his face close to Harry's. Keeping his hands on either side of the Gryffindor's neck, he exhaled gently, their faces inches apart, blowing the smoke into Harry's gradually opening mouth.

Harry inhaled the greatly improved smoke; it felt thinner and it tasted miles better than before, and exhaled it easily. To his surprise, Draco breathed the smoke that Harry exhaled back into his lungs again, the older boy closing his eyes in what looked like satisfaction as he did so.

Their foreheads bumped gently into each other as they breathed the smoke back and forth, diminishing each time until both men were quite certain they were just exchanging air.

Harry opened his eyes dazedly to discover Draco two inches away staring back at him. The blond glanced down at Harry's mouth briefly, then he smirked.

"Goodnight, Potter."

Suddenly the hands on his face were missing, and Draco was gone.


	9. Tension

Hello! Hello!

If anyone is still there I can't begin to tell you how sorry I am for the many months that have passed. You will be pleased to hear that I've also written the next chapter, which I will be posting in the very near future - just as soon as I've edited.

Action's picking up now ('finally!' I hear you shout), I really hope you enjoy, please review etc, it's much appreciated.

Love,

TheGreenEyedIdiot xx

* * *

><p>Harry was most certainly not avoiding Draco. Whatever evidence there might be that seemed to point to the contrary, Harry was absolutely, completely unequivocally and categorically not avoiding Draco.<p>

Well, maybe a little bit.

After sharing what could only be described as a _moment_ – Harry grimaced and clenched his hand spasmodically around his sprout knife – with the slippery git, Harry was simply finding normal interactions difficult. There really was no problem: he'd been sleeping in Ginny's bed for the last two nights and everybody (apart from Mrs Weasley who was safely unaware) was very understanding and accommodating and almost nobody had asked him if he'd had sex with Draco.

_Almost_ nobody because Charlie seemed to have a sixth sense directly linked to Draco's sexual habits.

Thankfully, Harry hadn't had much time to wallow in horror because it transpired that there was going to be a full-scale Death Eater attack on a muggle town near Ipswich, and everyone had been instructed to prepare for immediate action at literally any moment. So far, the threat of imposing activity had done nothing but brighten Harry's darkening mood, and perhaps caused him to have rather shorter showers than usual. Nobody wanted to be the person Apparating to the fight in his or her dressing gown with soap in their hair and balls.

Mad-Eye stumped into the kitchen and sat heavily on a kitchen chair, closely followed by Bill, Fleur and Remus. Mrs Weasley put the kettle on the stove for tea.

Harry slipped away from the sprouts in the sink to sit at the table, where Remus addressed him, "Tonks has been stationed in Ipswich for a couple of days. She seems to think it's getting closer. Our source was regrettably vague about the scale, but…"

"It'll be a big bastard." Bill finished for Remus. "Tonks is saying she's heard rumours that You-Know-Who will show up at last– "

"Pah!" Fleur interrupted her husband with a wave of her hand. "Zis is always ze case. Always zey say zat You-Know-'oo will be zere. 'E will not be so foolish, I think. Zis is not 'is concern, ze attacks on ze muggles."

"Of course not. His concern is Potter." Mad-Eye nodded at Harry, "And he knows that Potter will want to show up to be the hero and save the muggles. Potter-baiting."

Harry drew back, affronted, ready to say something – he wasn't sure what – that would convince Moody otherwise.

Remus put his hand on Harry's upper arm briefly. "He's right, Harry. You're his main concern now. That and gathering followers. If he can get to you -"

"And kill you."

"Yes, Moody, thank you. If he can get you out of the picture, then in his eyes he's all but won."

"So what you're saying," Harry said, struggling very hard not to explode with anger, "what you're saying is that you don't want me to go and fight?"

"We trying to keep you out of danger, Harry." Bill said.

Fleur shook her silvery hair. "Of course you cannot fight. We would be even stupider zan zey believe we are if we allowed you into ze open like zat."

Harry turned to look at Remus, pleading with his eyes, "Remus, you can't seriously… I'm not a child, I can look after myself… you said yourself that you need all the help you can get!"

Moody answered him. "You might be an adult, Potter, but I don't know any wizard alive today who could take Voldemort and his Death Eaters in a concentrated attack. You're a red bloody flag, every single lowly Death Eater looking to win Voldemort's approval will be aiming their wands at you."

The piercing whistle of the kettle broke the furious tension that had built around Harry.

"Tea, yes." Mrs Weasley hurried back to the stove, "Remus?"

"Yes please, Molly."

Harry shook his head angrily, "Dumbledore trusted me. He believed I could do it. I'm the one he told how to defeat Voldemort. _Me_. How can I be of any use stuck inside like a bloody coward?"

"Nobody thinks you're a coward, Harry – "

"THEN STOP TREATING ME LIKE I'M USELESS."

"Oi! Potter!"

Draco, obviously drawn by the noise, had entered the kitchen. Who knew how long he'd been lurking outside, Harry thought venomously.

"Pull your head out of your arse and see the light, oh Chosen One." Draco stood by the door, arms folded. "Nobody's questioning your Merlin-like abilities and unfathomable secret wisdom."

Harry spluttered – _the little git…_

Draco continued, either oblivious or simply enjoying Harry's anger. "They're just trying to get you to use that little head of yours. If you haven't noticed, this war is about a lot more than you being able to prove your manliness. Whether it's true or not, the Dark Lord and most of the wizarding world seem to believe that you are the only thing keeping the Dark from victory. It's not helpful to anyone but the Chief Ballbag himself for you to go and get yourself killed or captured."

The way Draco said "captured" gave Harry a start, picturing dark cellars and blood.

"Then I'll go disguised." Harry had gotten up, and was pacing around the room. "I'll go in my cloak. I'll take some ginger kid's polyjuice potion and pretend to be another Weasley. Anything! I don't have to be a red flag, but I can be useful! Moody? Remus? Please, Bill? Fleur?" He didn't let his gaze fall to Draco for a second.

Fleur rolled her eyes. "Whezzer you look like 'arry Potter or not, you can still die."

Moody grunted his assent. "You're too valuable to loose."

Harry nearly pounded his fist on the table with rage. "You don't have to give your consent. I'm perfectly capable of getting there myself."

"Not if I've got anything to do with it. Bloody reckless boy." Moody snorted.

"Once again you seem to overestimate your talents, Potter" Draco smirked. "Are you suggesting that you could take on the Order single-handed?"

Harry was about to retort when Bill, who had been looking pained, spoke up.

"I think we should let him come."

Everybody around the table turned their gaze towards him.

Bill, looking mildly uncomfortable but sounding firm, continued "If he's in disguise he'll be at no more risk than the rest of us, we may as well tell _you_ not to go, Mad-Eye, because they know you're talented and therefore a target. Harry can look after himself; he's proved that enough times. And Dumbledore thought he was the only one who could really get rid of Voldemort. It seems to me that we're handicapping ourselves by keeping our only truly deadly weapon in reserve."

Harry grinned at Bill, who winked back – or at least, Harry _thought_ he had winked, it was hard to tell on the side of his face that Greyback had gotten to.

Remus, with a brief apologetic glance at Harry, replied, "Yes, of course he can look after himself, we all know that. But the fact remains that he's simply not as expendable as the rest of us. If, as you said, he is our only truly deadly weapon, then allowing him to put himself in danger is not only reckless, but it could be the end of all our hopes. I'm sorry Harry; truly, I know how awful it is to feel helpless. But your purpose is not yet here. You may only have one chance to kill Voldemort and we can't afford to throw that away."

Harry, deflated, sat back in his chair, and cast his eyes around for someone to vent at. He caught a brief look at Draco's smug face and whipped his head around to snap at the greasy little git.

"Dunno why you're looking so happy, ferret, you're not going anywhere either."

Draco's smirk dipped slightly before he hitched it back up. "Oh of course, you'll need a babysitter. Don't worry, I won't leave you unattended for a minute."

Something in Draco's voice made Harry blush, but luckily he could attribute it to anger rather than anything unnerving.

Remus, thankfully, saved Harry the trouble of replying. "You'll be guarding each other. We need you to be sensible. We can't spare anyone else to keep an eye on you."

Moody looked at Draco "Use force if necessary to keep him here."

Mrs Weasley, who had been standing by the stove in very studied silence, cut in: "_Reasonable_ force."

Draco looked delighted in a way that made Harry feel in danger of blushing again, but luckily he was too incensed.

"He can use force? Him? Malf- _Draco_ can use force? What about me?"

Bill laughed. "If it comes to it Harry, I don't think anyone would object if you use force too. But-"

Fleur finished the sentence for him "But we do not think zat Draco will try so 'ard to 'elp."

Draco did not appear ruffled by this slight. He lifted his chin slightly and tightened his jaw, but made no other gesture to communicate his annoyance. Annoyance, which, privately, he found was far greater than he would have expected.

* * *

><p>Harry was an adult and he could act like one, damn it. Certainly the confirmation that he'd be staying behind had angered him, but, he had to admit, he didn't want the ferret to see his annoyance. He did his best to go about his days just as he had before, but the constant tingle of anticipation that everybody else seemed to be experiencing was noticeably missing from his own existence. It was also putting an additional strain on his relationship with Ginny. Harry, though recognising his own irrationality, could not help snapping at his girlfriend for very little reason, especially if she – knowingly or otherwise – reminded him of the fight.<p>

After one such altercation Ginny, nearly in tears, was shouting at him from the end of the bed, which he sat on sullenly.

"I can't believe how childish you're being, Harry. You know that I've got to go and fight. You know that we all have to!"

Harry, mouth set, replied angrily "I wouldn't expect you to understand. Don't you see? I can _help_. How am I supposed to live with myself if one of you gets hurt, knowing that I could have prevented it?"

Ginny's face went a scary shade, and her eyes flashed, "You wouldn't expect _me_ to understand? Harry, do you have some kind of memory problem? Do you not remember how you got here? How my brother had his ear cursed off, or how Moody nearly died, while I waited at home like a good little girl? I could have helped. I might have prevented it. It's hard, but that's how it was. And do you know what? I'm glad in a way, because I couldn't bear the thought of how my family would feel, and how you would feel if I died."

Harry shrivelled a little. Of course he'd forgotten.

But Ginny wasn't finished. "The difference is, Harry, that if you die it's not just us that you have to worry about. It is _everyone_ who still believes in the light. If you die, we're lost."

Harry, though he felt heartily ashamed, still had a more little petulant anger to give, but could not find any words to reasonably express it. So instead of apologising, he got up and left Ginny's room, his heart sinking as he passed Ginny and saw the hurt in her eyes.

Harry, anger abating with every step, found his feet leading him up to his room. Once he reached the landing of Ron's room at the top of the house, Harry was just about ready to turn around and apologise to Ginny. When he opened the door, however, and saw Draco sprawled across Harry's bed reading one of his books, his anger reignited and briefly drove his girlfriend from his mind.

"What are you doing?" Harry spat.

"Reading." Draco said, sweetly. "Interesting book, Potter, bit dark for you though, isn't it?"

Harry took out his wand and summoned the book wordlessly, throwing it back on his pile of belongings viciously.

Draco sat up and swung his legs off the bed. "Temper, temper, Potter. Didn't your mother ever teach you not to snatch? Oh no, I suppose she didn't."

Malfoy's grin was too much. Harry, forgetting his wand, lunged at Draco. The latter, not expecting a physical attack, did not react fast enough to prevent Harry from pushing him back onto the bed, but gathered himself fast enough to catch Potter's fist in his hand before it hit his face. Draco then placed his hands against Harry's shoulders and pushed him back, hard. Harry staggered a little, and Draco had time to grab his wand and cast a repelling charm. The force of the spell forced Harry back onto Draco's bed.

Harry seemed to deflate, and he put his head in his hands.

Draco looked a little uncomfortable and shuffled forward a little on the bed so that he could reach Harry sitting opposite – which he seemed about to do, before he thought better of it and dropped his hand.

They sat in silence, knees nearly touching for some time before they were interrupted by the sound of urgent feet on the stairs. Mrs Weasley burst breathlessly into the room a second later, fastening her cloak as she went.

"The signal, we've had the signal" she said quickly, "Most of the others have gone already, I'm staying behind until Bill and Fleur get here, we're leaving together, you – both of you – _stay put_. Go down to the kitchen and wait there, For Merlin's sake don't do anything silly, we need you here in case we need to bring back someone who's been injured. Come on!"

And she disappeared again, cloak flying behind her.

Harry and Draco glanced at each other briefly before they both leapt to their feet. Draco grabber his shoes from beside the door and carried them with him as they thundered down the stairs, making it just as Bill and Fleur arrived.

Bill's face was serious, but he seemed calm. "Both of you, please, stay here. You may be needed if someone gets injured. We'll send word when we can by Patronus."

Fleur kissed Harry quickly, and they all said short goodbyes before Mrs Weasley, Bill and Fleur hurried out into the garden to apparate.

The adrenaline that was coursing through Harry's body was almost making him shake at his sudden lack of purpose. He looked, defeated, at the chair at the kitchen table, which Draco was already sinking into.

"May as well get comfortable. We could be in for a long wait."

Harry sighed, and clenched his fists in an effort to relieve some tension.

* * *

><p>Two hours passed, and little changed. The two men sat in silence for the most part. Harry nursed a cold cup of tea and Draco smoked quite consistently. Harry couldn't find it in himself to bring up Mrs Weasley's no smoking rule.<p>

"You know," Draco said, suddenly, "I know how you feel."

Harry glanced at Draco, almost too tired to feel annoyed. Instead of replying, he snorted his derision.

Draco looked at him, bored almost. "I do. Maybe my reasons aren't as noble as yours, but I want to be in that fray as much as you, perhaps more."

Harry still, did not deign to give a reply.

Draco could sense his disbelief, and his tone gained a quiet urgency. "It would have been my first chance to be on the other side of the wand. My father. My aunt. Although I suppose I shouldn't call them that any more." Draco looked contemplative. "What I wouldn't give to see Bellatrix Lestrange's expression when she spotted me fighting with the Order!" He snorted in laughter. "Obviously it would be a death sentence if they caught me, even if your lot trusted me enough to let me fight with you. But maybe it would be almost worth it."

Draco descended into silence, and Harry stared at him. The blond didn't seem to notice – or care – as he was busily employed in searching for another cigarette.

Harry, inexplicably, found his sense of shame increase. In the course of one day he'd managed to become more immature than Draco, which was saying something. Oh Merlin, Ginny was so right.

He did not, however, have long to dwell on his childishness, because through the open window the silvery form of a Patronus shot. It was an otter, and Hermione's slightly frazzled voice sounded as it gambolled into the centre of the room.

"Harry, Draco, I need you to send us a message immediately if Ginny comes home. Don't go anywhere. We're ok."

Harry stomach lurched.

_Oh God, no, please not Ginny._

He was out of his seat and halfway into his cloak before he knew what he was doing.

"Potter! Where do you think you're going? You heard Granger, we need to be here in case your girlfriend comes back."

Harry, his mind racing and a wild look on his face, turned to face Draco, "You stay here then, I need to be there. I need to find Ginny."

"Like bollocks am I staying if you're going. Potter! You can't leave." Draco was shouting up the stairs by this point, because Harry had gone to get his invisibility cloak.

Moments later he rushed back down, and then swiftly out of the door. Draco was still scrambling into his shoes with one arm in his robes and one out, when Harry crossed the house boundary and disappeared with a pop.

"Oh fucking hell, Potter." Malfoy said to himself, grabbing his wand and sprinting after Harry.

Harry apparated into a deserted alley. He couldn't see anyone, but the sounds of shouting and spells were not far off. He sprinted towards the noise, looking as he went, though he knew it was ridiculous for any sign of red hair. He seemed to be reaching the edge of the fray; he could see flashes of light from spells, and the screams were getting louder. He half-heard somebody shout his name and turned towards the sound, but before he could face them he was hit in the back with a spell. Whatever it was it made his whole body cramp in pain for a few seconds, before he slipped easily out of consciousness.


	10. Faith

Hello again!

I told you this would be here soon! I'm so great. Thank you very much to everyone who reviewed, favourited etc - really, it means so much to me and fuels my commitment (blackmail, blackmail, blackmail). This chapter is a little bit more violent than the last one, but next chapter there will be something exciting for all of you who are waiting patiently for the Drarry! Hooray. I'm about half way through chapter 11, it should be with you by the end of this week. Please please review? I'll be your friend?

Love and all of those good things,

TheGreenEyedIdiot xx

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><p>"Stupid <em>bloody<em> Gryffindors."

Harry opened his eyes blearily and looked up to see Draco crouched by his head. Draco noticed Harry come round and frowned down at him, nudging him none too gently with the toe of his shoe.

"What in Merlin's name is wrong with you?"

Harry shuffled up onto his elbows and saw that they were back in the deserted alley.

"Why did you bring me back here?" he demanded, angrily. "I need to find Ginny."

Draco shoved Harry back into sitting position as he tried to rise.

"Do you know what a complete twat you've been, running into the middle of that fight without a care in the world? Have you forgotten what you look like, Potter? Because last time I checked you bear a strong resemblance to a walking target."

Harry was getting frustrated. "I need to find Ginny."

"Not like that you don't. Put your bloody cloak on, for fuck's sake."

Harry belatedly remembered his invisibility cloak, which he pulled out of his inner pocket. When he went to throw it over himself Draco stepped under it too, and Harry stared at him.

"You are not bloody going without me."

Draco's tone brooked no argument, and Harry's desperation was increasing by the minute, so he shrugged and set off at an awkward run, trying to keep the cloak in place over them while accounting for their differing strides and heights.

As they approached the scene of the fight Draco muttered into Harry's ear, "Don't get heroic on me Potter, we don't need to be giving away our position. We'll be most help if we're concealed." Harry nodded slightly, "That means defensive spells _only_ if you want to help your buddies." Draco added, as Harry raised his wand at Mulciber, who was duelling Tonks.

In this way they advanced very slowly across the site of the battle, firing off spells to help where they could while not drawing too much attention to themselves. Draco thought that under any other circumstances the proximity of Potter's body might be rather pleasant. Unfortunately his brain had other things to attend to and Potter's body had to take a back seat for a while.

Eventually they reached the other edge of the battlefield, and though they had peered into every corner or hiding place they could find on their way, they had found no sign of Ginny. Harry had been getting steadily more anxious, and consequently his spatial awareness was heightened. He felt, before he saw, two Death Eaters enter a muggle house in a street diagonally behind where they now stood. He gestured wordlessly to Draco, who had to acknowledge that in this situation they ought to go on the offensive. They made their way as swiftly as they could towards the house. Once outside, Harry picked up a small pebble from the pavement and rolled it towards the broken-in door. It bounced back as if repelled by some invisible force.

"Bollocks." Harry muttered. "Why did I never learn how to disable these?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Seriously? This is kiddie playtime stuff." He waved his wand in a complicated little pattern and muttered something under his breath. "There, all gone."

"Teach me that one day", Harry whispered as they crept inside. Draco nodded and placed a finger over his lips. The house was very quiet.

They tiptoed throughout the ground floor to no avail; not a single Death Eater or muggle to be found. Draco frowned.

"Strange." he mouthed to Harry, who nodded back. Death Eaters were not generally discreet in their actions towards muggles – what would they care if someone walked in on them? They had no need to hide.

Harry, his suspicion heightened, pointed upwards. Draco silently acquiesced and they made their way upstairs. Up here they found that the house had another level above this one, from which voices drifted down. Before proceeding, though, Draco motioned that they should check all the rooms on this floor. In the third room they checked they found a family of five muggles, bound and gagged and suspended in mid-air. Harry had been about to free them when Draco gripped his arm. Harry understood.

Not yet. They didn't want to alert the Death Eaters to their presence yet.

Harry nodded with a grim look on his face, and they ascended the final flight of stairs silently.

The top floor was one large open bedroom. The bed had been pushed aside to make room for the five or so Death Eaters who stood there conversing around a body prone on the floor.

Ginny.

Draco felt Harry tense, but no more.

"I daresay she will of more use to us alive, Bella." Draco's own hackles rose at that voice, which he recognised as his father's – or, rather, as Lucius Malfoy's.

"But we've _got her_, Lucius. If we let this opportunity slip through our fingers-"

"And how" Malfoy's cold voice cut in, "will we ever convince Potter to come to us without sufficient bait? The Weasley girl is not the objective. The final objective has always been Potter."

It suddenly occurred to Harry that if this whole thing – Draco leaving his family, the battle – were all an elaborate ruse, then Draco has just very effectively deposited him into Voldemort's hands. Harry chanced a quick glance at Draco, and tightened his grip on his wand. However Draco seemed far more interested in one of the hooded figures who, when she spoke, Harry determined to be his mother.

"Bella don't run away with yourself. We ought to inform the Dark Lord." Narcissa spoke, in a tight, almost tortured tone, which Harry saw made Draco uncomfortable.

"The Dark Lord will surely praise us whatever the case. Besides, I'm sure he at least would not object to us having a little _fun_ with the girl before he makes his decision."

Lucius sighed loudly, which was just as well because Harry almost choked on his breath. "Oh for goodness' sake, Bella. Very well. Narcissa and I will rejoin the fight. Avery, McNair, you aren't to allow anyone but ourselves and the Dark Lord near the girl, do you understand?"

General assent followed his instruction, and Harry and Draco had to back out of the way as the Malfoys made their way down the stairs. Harry listened desperately to the sound of their footsteps retreating out of the house before he would allow himself to move. The last thing they wanted was for them to hear a commotion and return. The temptation was difficult to resist, however, because Bellatrix was in the process of rousing Ginny.

"Wakey wakey Weasel. _Enervate_."

Ginny shifted groggily, but once she opened her eyes and saw Bellatrix above her she was instantly awake, and shuffling backwards as fast as she could. Bellatrix seemed very pleased with this, her eyes lit up with the prospect of _fun. _It was a look that Draco recognised well, and for the first time possibly ever he really sympathised with the Weaslette.

"Oh dearey me, what have we here? It looks like a weasel – and so far from home!" Bellatrix's smile was maniacal, and Ginny had shuffled herself right up to the wall by now. Harry listened desperately for the footsteps of the Malfoys, who seemed to have paused on the landing below to check on their muggle charges. Harry wished now that they had released the muggles when they had the chance. They would probably be dead by the time Harry and Draco returned.

"Look who's talking." Ginny replied, her bravery had apparently risen in the absence of hope, though her voice shook a little. "Although seeing as Voldemort's taken your house as his holiday home maybe you're just looking for a new one. Nice neighbourhood, this. Plenty of muggles to torture."

Bellatrix's smile disappeared "You dare speak his name with your filthy, blood traitor mouth?" A knife appeared from the sleeve of her robe. "Such a pretty blood traitor mouth. Maybe I'll cut it off and send it to your boyfriend. I'm sure he'll find something to do with it." At this point Avery looked away with a faint look of disgust, but McNair looked on almost hungrily. Harry felt sick.

Bellatrix crouched down to Ginny's level and ran the point of her knife down the centre of Ginny's mouth, just hard enough draw blood.

Harry looked desperately at Draco, who started counting down from ten, mouthing the words. Harry nodded. They only had surprise. They were outnumbered. They needed to be unified.

Ginny, however, had other ideas. She looked Bellatrix in the eye and said, "Bitch." And then spat blood in her face. "Now your blood's tainted too."

Bellatrix didn't hesistate.

"_Crucio_!"

Harry sprang forward and stunned McNair before Draco, who had only gotten to 'two' in his countdown realised what was going on. He almost rolled his eyes, but instead he stunned Avery – who was focused on Potter – and threw off the cloak, receiving the brief pleasure of seeing his aunt's eyes widen in shock. Harry attempted to take advantage of her surprise, but to her credit, it did not hinder her capabilities. She blocked and parried with incredible speed, which Potter was just barely about to counter. Draco knew her style better and hindered her as best he could, but even with Draco distracting her Harry could only just manage to counter her attacks and occasionally throw in some of his own. He was beginning to think there would be no end to the duel when several things happened at once. Lucius Malfoy's voice sounded up the stairs, accompanied by two sets of urgent footsteps on the stairs. Bellatrix, momentarily distracted by her brother-in-law and sister's approach, was not able to counter Draco's jelly-legs jinx, (which he had only conjured because it took little effort and could be repeated almost indefinitely). Bellatrix stumbled before she reversed the jinx but Ginny, who had shuffled quietly forwards, threw Bellatrix's knife with a force and precision that did justice to her Quidditch skills. The knife planted itself quite firmly in Lestrange's lower ribs. Bellatrix, who did not seem to feel the pain particularly, was nevertheless distracted, and Harry, sensing his chance, shot a _petrificus totalis_ under her outstretched arm. As soon as she fell to the floor Harry ran to Ginny, who was actually laughing from what Draco presumed must be shock. Draco, however, went to his aunt – his ex-aunt, rather – and pulled the wand from her fist. Then, repeating what he had done to Harry in a train carriage last year, stamped on her face. Then he did it again. He did not, however, remove the knife. He put Bellatrix's wand in his pocket, and summoned Ginny's wand from her robes. He stared down at her, his mind racing at the opportunity.

"Draco," Harry, crouched over Ginny, was waving his arms desperately to get Draco's attention.

"Draco we need to go _now_."

Lucius and Narcissa's footsteps were dangerously close.

"Potter, Potter we could kill her. We could kill her now!"

Harry opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by the Malfoys, who burst out of the stairwell. Harry leapt to his feet, Ginny's hand in his own. Their shock at seeing their son was obvious, though it tended rather more towards pain on Mrs Malfoy's face. She lifted her hand almost unconsciously, and muttered his name.

Harry glanced at Draco, who looked almost regretful. The moment was broken quickly though, as Lucius raised his wand.

"You fool, boy."

Harry wasn't willing to wait any more. He grabbed Draco's wrist and turned on the spot.

* * *

><p>They apparated back in front of the Burrow, Harry staggering under Ginny's weight, as she was a little wobbly. Fred, George, Mr Weasley, Hermione and Ron all came running out to meet them. Remus and Tonks were not far behind, Mad-Eye stood in the doorway looking grim. Fred came to Ginny's other side to help Harry carry her across the grass, and as he did so Hermione rushed to his side to give him a hug.<p>

"Harry," she said, tearfully, "Fleur…"

"What? What happened? She's not…?"

Hermione shook her head, "No, thank God. But… well. You'll see."

Harry sped up a little, and Fred followed suit, and once inside they deposited Ginny on one of the sofas in the living room. Fleur was on the other. She looked pale, but did not have any visible signs of injury. Charlie was cradling his arm, which was wrapped in blood-soaked bandages. Catching Harry's eye he grinned,

"Don't worry, Potter, I'm alright. Malfoy hit me with something that seems to be taking a little longer than expected to heal."

Draco looked up sharply and moved over to sit beside Charlie. "I know what that is, give me your arm." Charlie held his arm out tentatively and Draco began to perform a very complicated-looking spell. Charlie's face instantly conveyed relief.

Mrs Weasley, who had been sitting next to Fleur and holding her hand, rose quickly and fell at her daughter's side.

"Oh my goodness, my baby, oh my poor beautiful baby, what happened to you?"

Ginny laughed her off weakly but seemed incapable of telling the story.

Harry replied instead. "Lestrange. The Malfoys and Bellatrix and Avery and McNair had her in the attic of a muggle house. She was out cold by the time we got there. We were under the cloak. The Malfoys left and Bellatrix started… she started..."

Draco, who had nearly healed Charlie's deep wound, picked up the story; "My charming aunt tortured her for a few minutes. We couldn't do anything because my parents were still in the house and if they returned we'd be hopelessly outmatched. As soon as they left – or rather just before" Draco glared at Harry, "We stepped in. Weasley threw a knife at Bellatrix and Potter petrified her."

Harry appeared to be cheering up in direct proportion to Ginny's facial colour. She was now nearly back to her normal shade, and so he was able to add quite cheerfully, "You missed out the part where Ginny called Lestrange a bitch and spat blood in her face. It was amazing."

Charlie, Fred and George outright laughed at this, and most of the others were able to crack a smile. The only ones unaffected seemed to be Bill and Fleur.

Malfoy wasn't finished though. "We- I would have killed her, but my parents came back too soon." He said this with a tone of utter loathing in his voice, which Harry suspected was more directed at Draco himself than anyone else.

Mrs Weasley rubbed her eyes. "I almost want to be angry that you left the house, but when I consider what could have happened…"

Mr Weasley was rubbing circles on his wife's back. "Shh, my dear. It's alright. We're alright."

Draco finished healing Charlie's arm, which was now emitting a faint purple glow. "There. It'll glow for a bit, but at least you're not bleeding any more."

Charlie grinned broadly. "That's fantastic, Draco, thank you. It actually feels great."

Remus rested his hand on Draco's shoulder. "Thank you for facing Bellatrix, Draco. That can't have been easy for you."

Draco laughed slightly. "Are you kidding? That's the most fun I've had in months. I didn't tell you that I stamped on her face, did I?"

Tonks got a knowing look on her face as she looked at Harry. "That's becoming a bit of signature move for you, Draco."

Draco looked up, surprised, but Tonks did nothing more than smile vaguely.

A brief silence descended. Then Mrs Weasley broke it by saying in a quiet voice, "Fleur, would you like to be alone? I'm sure we can all go to the kitchen…"

"I am not a leper!" Fleur cried, her bell-like voice sounding a little strangled.

Harry glanced at Hermione, who jerked her head towards the kitchen, and then stood. "Harry and Ron and I will make tea. Or perhaps something stronger?"

Harry glanced at Ginny to make sure that she was ok, and she waved him off with a small smile. Charlie swiftly filled his empty seat in any case, and wrapped his arm around her. After determining that firewhiskey was the preferred beverage, the three of them entered the kitchen. As they left Mrs Weasley was fussing over Draco, thanking him profusely for saving her daughter and healing her son. Hermione shut the door.

"What's going on?" said Harry immediately.

Ron answered. "Fleur. You know she's pregnant?"

Harry shook his head wildly, "What, no? What? Well, I mean I saw her stomach but… I didn't want to presume… But why did she go today if she knew?"

Ron shrugged, "God knows. She was about 4 months along. Anyway, point is, she _was_ pregnant. She got hit in the stomach with something and it just… I dunno, dislodged it? Tonks healed up the outer wound but… the baby…"

"There wasn't anything they could do." Said Hermione, sounding very tearful. "There isn't a lot you can do, you know, even with magic."

Harry felt like he'd been stunned. This baby... it had no choice in whether it got involved in the war. A total innocent. It all seemed so ridiculously unfair.

Hermione dropped her voice to a whisper as she used her wand to guide the bottle of Ogdens pouring out twelve measures of firewhiskey. "I feel so awful for her because, you know, Fleur went out today even though she was pregnant. She's going to feel like the death of her baby was her fault."

Harry looked at the closed door, through which Fleur sat. He could only imagine what a torment that would be.

Hermione levitated all twelve glasses in front of her and Harry led the way, opening the door for her. She lowered them onto the coffee table and everybody grabbed a glass except Fleur, who looked as if she might cry when she was offered one.


	11. Snap

**Hello all!**

**Sorry it's late, and also sorry it's a bit short, but the chapter just didn't want to be any bigger so here you are – rest assured I'll make up for the length next chapter and ALSO with the goodies enclosed! Behold! Drarry! Admittedly not very exciting Drarry for the smut-lovers among you but our two very stupid protagonists are making progress of the physical kind. Hope you enjoy, as ever thank you so much for the support – reviews, favourites and alerts, hell, even just reading the bloody thing. Anyway you're all lovely, enjoy!**

**Lots of love,**

**TheGreenEyedIdiot xx**

Later that night Draco lay in bed, staring unblinkingly at the ceiling. He could not shake the thought that if they had just stayed a few moments longer… if he had not hesitated, not asked Potter for permission… Bellatrix might've been dead by now, and by his own hand.

He pounded his fist into the mattress and stifled a grunt of frustration. If _only_ he hadn't been so cocky. The few moments it had taken his to stamp on Bellatrix's face would have been sufficient to end her completely. He remembered the look in her eyes as she lay frozen on the floor so clearly – she had not believed that he would kill her. How he would have loved to prove her wrong.

However, the idea that killing the bitch quickly would not have satisfied him wormed its way into his thoughts, and he could not shake it.

He turned his head to look at Potter's empty bed. He found himself actually missing the company - anything to take his mind off the unpleasantness of his thoughts.

He wondered if now, with Perfect Potter's testimony to Draco's genuine loyalty if he would be allowed to join them in the next fight. A ripple of laughter coursed through him as he imagined Scarhead's reaction if Draco were allowed to fight the next battle while Potter sat at home. The pleasure was short lived, however, as his mind filled once more with Bellatrix's frozen smirk and shattered nose. Draco sat up abruptly, determined to do something other than wallow. He swung his legs off the bed, slipped on his trousers and then his shoes. The warmth of the night did not necessitate a shirt, so he crept out of the room and down the stairs.

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><p>Harry could not sleep. Ginny was fast asleep next to him, having been administered a strong sleeping potion by her mother. She had fallen asleep curled around him, and Harry had not felt this much love for her in a long time – or more discontent with their relationship. He felt unworthy of her love, but worst of all he felt like a brother who had failed her, not a boyfriend. Their tearful reconciliation had been equal parts joy and shame for Harry who, despite reassurances from both Ginny and Hermione, felt that his behaviour to Ginny had been in some way to blame for the events of the battle. Harry carefully removed Ginny's arm from his chest, and slipped out of bed. He stared down at her for a moment. She really was beautiful. Her red hair spread out behind her on the pillow, eyes closed and newly healed lips a little swollen. She looked angelic. He carefully covered her exposed arm and torso with the duvet and left the room, glancing once more at her as he went.<p>

Harry tiptoed down the stairs and into the garden where, not to his complete surprise, he found a topless Draco smoking a cigarette. Wordlessly Harry dropped into the chair beside him. Draco offered Harry a cigarette absently and Harry, equally unconsciously, took one. He lit it with his wand and took a tentative drag. He forced himself not to cough.

"I could have done it."

Harry looked at Draco, almost certain that he knew what the other man was talking about. Draco met his gaze and Harry was astonished to see tears in his eyes. Tears, which Draco seemed to be desperately withholding from spilling down his face. His face was tilted slightly back as though he was trying to direct them back into his tear ducts.

"I could have killed the bitch. Why did you make me leave?"

Harry replied carefully. Draco's distress made him tense. "Come on, you know we had to leave. Your parent- er, I mean, the Malfoys… they were- "

"Oh, fuck my parents!" Draco said, wildly, "I could've… I could've killed Bella and then who the fuck cares what happens to me? If I'd died at least I would have taken her with me. Your lot would be ecstatic." Draco's voice became more sober towards the end.

Harry's voice softened. "No they- I mean, we wouldn't. I know you don't want to believe it but you're actually very useful."

Draco's head snapped around, the tone of his voice was cold and it reminded Harry of the old Draco. "Don't fucking patronise me, Potter. I'm aware of my value to you lot, thank you, and I'm pretty sure it falls behind the value of a dead Bellatrix Lestrange."

Draco reclined in his chair and seemed to speak to himself next, "Why I actually care about the opinions of a gaggle of bloody Gryffindors is beyond me. Who the fuck cares if they trust me?"

Harry for some reason found himself saying, "Tonks was a Hufflepuff."

Draco didn't look at him, but spat sarcastically, "Oh, well thank fucking Merlin, a Hufflepuff! The epitome of good judgement."

But all at once the venom seemed to leave his countenance, and he simply looked tired now.

Harry could not think of anything helpful to say – could not even bring himself to be very angry about Draco's oft-repeated Gryffindor raging. The silence loomed thick in the air without hope of reprieve, but the moon suddenly broke through the clouds. Harry felt that he was somehow excused from speaking by its presence.

Several minutes later Draco spoke again. "I'm glad we found your girlfriend." Draco was staring at his ankles now. "I mean – Merlin knows what they would've done to her. My aunt-"

He broke off, not seeming to know what he was going to say. He glanced up at Ginny's window as he spoke, and kept his gaze there for a moment or two, squinting against the darkness. Harry replied quickly and gratefully. "Me too. And, er, thanks for your help. You were… really good today. I'd probably have been dead five seconds after reaching the battle if it weren't for you." Harry stuttered slightly as he praised Draco, fully expecting the blond to wrinkle his nose and smirk derisively. Draco, however, was still looking firmly at his ankles and only grimaced a little and shrugged.

"Don't worry about it. That's what babysitters are for."

Harry shot a sharp glance at Draco and found he had been too forgiving in his first assessment of Draco's facial expression. A corner of his mouth was twitching and his grey eyes laughed as he glanced back at Harry.

A cloud suddenly passed across Draco's face, and the laugh in his eyes flattened. Harry found that he didn't need to ask what was on Draco's mind. He glanced down at the cigarette in his hand. It was out. Draco threw the stub of his into the back of a rhododendron.

Harry looked now at Draco, whose pale skin had been rendered luminous by the moonlight. He placed the half-smoked cigarette in his hand carefully on the arm of his chair and shuffled forwards a little. Without thought, his hand came up to rest on Draco's upper arm. Harry supposed that he had intended to pat Draco consolingly, but his hand just lay there uselessly, becoming more and more awkward by the second. The blond looked a little surprised, but didn't move. Harry looked at his hand, willed it to do something. He found, to his satisfaction, that it did move – but only to a perch higher up Draco's arm. His skin was very, very soft, he noticed dully. Their eyes met; Draco questioning, Harry a little panicky. Draco had very nice eyes, Harry remembered. Grey and liquid and twinkling just a little at the moment, Harry supposed they were reflecting the moonlight because he couldn't imagine Draco's eyes ever twinkled of their own accord. Harry did not really register anything more than a wish to see Draco's eyes more clearly but found that quite suddenly, their heads were very close together. Harry rushed back to himself all at once, and he became hyper-aware of Draco's inquisitive expression, the warmth of his breath and the smell of cigarette smoke. Harry looked again, firmly, into Draco's eyes, imparting a split-second decision, before his hand moved up to Draco's shoulder and he pulled their heads together.

The first touch of their lips was all tingles. They spread through his mouth and throughout his whole body, almost making his shiver. And they did not stop. Draco was a wonderful kisser – how could he have expected less? Their mouths were not quite urgent, but certainly enthusiastic. Draco was certainly more refined, he kissed elegantly but his little noises of appreciation echoed in Harry's ears and sent cascades of tingles along his spine. Harry's hands were everywhere; first in Draco's hair, then his neck, shoulders, cheeks and back to his hair again. Draco's left hand was tugging at the neckline of Harry's t-shirt at the first, but soon he was trailing his long fingers up and down Harry's arms, along his spine, raking down his sides - all exceptionally gently. Slowly his fingers moved a little south; trailing along the gap between the back of his tshirt and his trousers. Harry found that he liked this very much and it was all he could do not to place his hand firmly on Draco's thigh, or, well, a little higher. After what seemed like no time at all, the kiss softened. Draco licked Harry's lip a little and Harry found himself moaning softly. They broke apart gently, neither wishing to fully withdraw because _what the hell did they do when this was over?_ Draco pulled Harry to him once more, kissing him soundly, and finally it was done. Harry found that he could not remove his hand from Draco's neck. They looked at each other silently, catching their breath. Draco's trousers were uncomfortably tight, and, on glancing at Harry's lap, found to his delight that the brunette was similarly inconvenienced. Draco smiled at Harry dazedly. Harry found himself quite giddy.

Then reality came crashing down. Harry withdrew his hand slowly, as though afraid of startling Draco.

"I… I…"

Harry wished to say something sensible, coherent even, but found himself completely unmatched to the task. Draco shook his shoulders slightly. Harry stood, and found his crotch embarrassingly close to Draco's face.

"I'll see you tomorrow."

Harry was quite pleased that he had managed to string a sentence together, and forced himself to walk, rather than run away. Draco watched Harry walk back into the house, and pulled out a cigarette.

* * *

><p>Ginny drew away from the window, pensive. She was not exactly angry – not yet, anyway – which was unusual for her. She had a tendency to shout first and think later, a tendency she shared with most of her family.<p>

But it was a difficult, and certainly entirely unprecedented situation she thought, as she climbed back into bed. Harry had cheated on her by kissing Draco, no doubt about that, and it had certainly looked as though Harry had been the one initiating it. She remembered Draco's gaze on her window minutes before the kiss. She was certain that he'd seen her, even before she drew back into the shadows. She could hear Harry's footsteps on the stairs, quiet though he tried to be. 17 years in this house had taught her how to read the nuances of the creaking stairs so that she was confident she could learn to identify any approaching step now.

The thing was, though, she thought, as Harry slipped quietly into the room, was that Harry wasn't gay. He wasn't even bisexual, as far as she knew. They'd been having problems in bed for a while now, but she'd always assumed that was stress.

Suddenly a horrible thought hit her like a saucepan to the head. What if Harry couldn't perform with her because he was already getting it from somewhere else? For example, a few floors above her where Harry and Draco were sharing a tiny room?

Harry, who had shed his shoes and trousers, slipped into bed behind her, and slipped an arm around her waist. His feet were cold. She was frozen, the idea impossible to shake. Why would that not be the case? Harry had certainly seemed bold enough out there, leaning in to kiss Draco just like that. Draco hadn't even seemed surprised, although she supposed that was hard to tell from up here. Who was to say they hadn't been at it for weeks? Who else knew? Draco had seen her standing there in the window. He didn't try to prevent Harry from kissing him even though he knew Ginny was watching. It was entirely possible that Malfoy was simply enough of a git that he'd kiss her boyfriend in front of her, but what if Malfoy thought she knew about them? Ginny was getting angry enough to forget that Draco's name was no longer Malfoy. Harry's breaths were quickly getting shallower and more even. She rolled over out of his arms. She couldn't think while he was all over her. Maybe he'd tell her in the morning. Maybe it was all a mistake. Maybe he needed reassurance after today. Maybe he was just curious. The answers to all but one of those questions came immediately into her head. A mistake where she apparently hallucinated very vividly seeing Harry and Malfoy kiss? More reassurance than she needed, tonight of all nights? As though curiosity was ever an excuse, as though Ginny herself hadn't been curious. It did not negate their relationship. The only answer she could not provide; maybe he would tell her in the morning. All she could do was wait. She would give him fair time to tell her, and then, if he said nothing, Merlin help the boy.


	12. Rebuke

Hello hello hello,

Hope you're all well and not too pissed at the length of time it took me to get this chapter out - my life has been very busy including moving back to uni, meeting a very lovely lady and also DEADLINESDEADLINESSOMANYDEADLINES. So I'm sorry about that. Hope you enjoyed the last chapter, I attempted to make their kiss as non-mushy as possible (which was HARD ok I just want them to love each other immediately and get married) and I hope you didn't find it too OOC - for this version of themselves at least. Anyway, fair warning, this chapter contains A LOT, and I mean A LOT of swearing. Like there's one line which is all swear words. But I'm sure (I hope) we're all adult enough to deal. As usual it would be really great if you reviewed/favourited/whatever, because it makes me feel validated and fabulous. Thank you for reading!

Lots of love,

TheGreenEyedIdiot xx

* * *

><p>Harry stretched. His back clicked.<p>

He hadn't opened his eyes yet but the transparency of his eyelids told him it was late morning at least. That was odd. Why hadn't he been woken?

His eyes snapped open.

_Shit._

He'd stayed in Ginny's room all night. Why the hell had he stayed in Ginny's room? What could possibly have prevented him from returning to the Mrs Weasley-approved safe zone of his own bedroom?

_Shit._

Harry had been in the middle of wrestling his socks on, but he absolutely froze.

Shit. Shit shit shit. Shit shit shit shit.

"Oh sweet, merciful Merlin please tell me this is a dream." Harry jumped into action again, finally succeeding with his socks and moving onto trousers. No. No no no no nope.

There was no way on the fucking planet that he had kissed Draco McFerret. Abso-fucking-lutely not. No.

Fully dressed, Harry sank back down onto the bed and let his head flop into his hands. What in the name of all that is holy had he been thinking? His mind jumped around, flashes of last night coming in and out.

_He kissed me_… no, no I definitely kissed him first.

_But he kissed back? _Yes, after I kissed him.

Harry found himself touching his lips with a finger in kind of shocked daze.

Oh Merlin, Ginny. He had to tell her. Right? Didn't he?

Did he?

He didn't want to tell her. He very, very much did not want to tell her.

"Get a grip, Harry", he said aloud. George appeared in the doorway.

"Talking to yourself now, eh? Not a good sign."

Fred inevitably appeared behind him. "You need to make some real friends, Harry. Get out a bit more."

Harry tried to smile but apparently just looked ill, because both twins speedily moved out of his way as he headed for the door. Fred threw up his hands as Harry passed.

"Easy there, this suit would definitely not benefit from your vomit."

Harry made a small grunt in response and threw himself into the bathroom, locking the door behind him.

He collapsed on the toilet seat. He really ought to tell Ginny, but not now, not immediately. She'd just been through a horrible ordeal; she didn't need this on top of it. He'd tell her… tomorrow? The day after? He shrugged, he'd work out the detail later.

Harry splashed his face with water and brushed his teeth, feeling marginally better. As he dried his face he caught a glimpse of Ginny's shampoo bottle and smiled. He picked it up and opened the cap, taking a deep sniff.

He'd always loved that smell. It immediately transported him back to his sixth year; burying his face in her hair as they rode tandem on a broom, or cuddling in the same armchair in the common room as they did homework. His smile faded a little and he put the bottle back. It seemed a long time ago.

Harry's attention was caught next by the sleek black bottle next to Ginny's shampoo. He smirked. He would bet all the gold in his vault that it was Draco's. Without thinking, he picked it up and removed the cap. He took a long sniff and smiled, yep, definitely Draco's. He sniffed again. It smelt nice. He'd never really given much thought to how Draco smelt but it was sort of woody and smoky and- he was half way through a third sniff when he suddenly realised what he was doing. The bottle slipped out of his hand and crashed to the floor, squirting its contents all over Harry and the floor.

"Shit, shit shit." Harry cursed quietly to himself, and waved his wand to clean and replace the shampoo in its bottle. He shoved it back into its place and turned his back on it, taking a deep breath and shuffling out of the bathroom, straight into Mrs Weasley.

"Oh, there you are, dear. I was just coming to look for you; everyone's in the kitchen having breakfast. You'd best hurry if you want any bacon." She smiled at him a little too forcedly, and stroked his face a little too tenderly, but otherwise her façade of strength was very good.

Harry smiled at her as kindly as he could, and hurried down the stairs. He entered the kitchen with his head bent, an unruly blush climbing his neck as he felt Draco's gaze on him immediately. However, as he did a quick scan of the room, he found his girlfriend's eyes to be even more intense. He hurried round to sit between her and Charlie, and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek.

"Oi, where's mine?" Charlie pouted, before grinning at Harry. "Go on Potter, gi'us a kiss. I'm lonely." Harry's blush went from a four to a nine in a matter of seconds; a fact that did not go unnoticed by Charlie.

"Don't be shy, I won't bite." He gnashed his teeth playfully and winked at Draco, who was watching was a sort of constipated look.

Harry could not prevent himself from also glancing at Draco, whose teeth seemed to have left an indelible imprint of tingles on Harry's lips. After what seemed like hours, Charlie finally stopped teasing and simply roared with laughter at Harry's face.

Harry, relieved, turned to face Ginny with a grin, but to his surprise he found her glaring at him even more furiously than before. Harry's heart sank as he tried to imagine what could possibly have angered her so early in the day.

Maybe Draco – but no, he wouldn't. Would he?

Harry ate hastily, shooting short but frequent glances at both Ginny and Draco. Ginny seemed to be ignoring him, staring very hard at her eggs, while Draco returned each look coolly, and only once with a hint of a smirk.

After clearing a mere two plates of breakfast and escaping Mrs Weasley's insistence that he have more – a practically unheard-of feat in the Weasley house – Harry excused himself upstairs, trying in vain to catch Ginny's eye. He waited fifteen long minutes in her room, pacing back and forth, back and forth across her floor, until – oh no.

He had come to a stop directly facing her window, which had a very pretty view over the back garden. A view that directly overlooked the deck chairs where he and Draco had had their… moment. Oh no.

But no, she had been out cold. She had taken her sleeping potion. But what else could it be? What on earth could have made her so very angry after she was perfectly happy with him last night? Harry also seemed to remember her telling him that her tolerance to sleeping potions was heightened. She spent most of her second year on them, because of her nightmares about Tom Riddle.

The door swung open.

Harry swivelled slowly on the spot.

"Er, hi."

She shut the door.

"Hi."

She sat on the bed.

"Are you alright?" Harry said. His hands were sweaty. When had his hands started sweating?

"Mhm. Why do you ask?" Ginny smoothed the covers carefully and looked at him sweetly.

"Oh. It's just that at breakfast you seemed a little…"

"Stand-offish, perhaps?" Ginny said this very calmly, and Harry felt a new fear awaken in him. Something about her measured voice screamed 'Mrs Weasley'.

"Erm. Yes. I suppose you could say that." He replied.

Ginny stood up, and Harry could see that she was shaking a little bit.

"And you can't think of any reason that I might be upset with you? Nothing at all?"

Harry knew that this was probably his only chance to explain himself, but unfortunately his mouth did not seem to agree, "I… don't… I don't… I don't…"

"You _don't, _Harry? You don't what? Know? Understand? Care? What? What the fuck is it that you _don't_ do? Because as far as I was aware, you _don't_ kiss fucking ferret balls, but apparently I was wrong, so please Harry, go ahead and explain what you don't do now, since I'm so out of the fucking loop?"

By the end she was screaming, the wand clenched in her hand sparking and cracking.

Harry felt like he'd been gutted. His mouth opened and closed, about three thoughts behind his brain.

Ginny was not patient, she tapped her foot on the ground. "Come on, Harry, don't play dumb. Who else knows? Who else _fucking_ knows? How long has it been going on? Have you _fucked_? Oh I'm sure you've been having a wonderful time, what with Malfoy sucking your cock half the time and your girlfriend cuddling you the other half. I can't believe you made me think I wasn't fucking good enough. Well I hope you're fucking happy, because this is the most fucked up I have ever been treated and I don't care who the fuck you are, you don't get to treat anyone like this."

Harry's brain clocked in around the time Ginny mentioned Draco sucking his cock, and was working overtime to try to comprehend what he was hearing.

"Ginny, Ginny, what are you talking about? There's been no… no cock-sucking. Of any kind." He wasn't really sure what he meant by that, but he thought it sounded authoritative. "There's nothing going on, we're not having an affair. We just, well, I kissed him last night. And I feel fucking terrible about it Ginny, really. I'm so, so sorry."

Ginny frowned. "That's… it?"

Harry, sensing a slight reduction in anger, replied eagerly; "Yes, yes, that's it! Really, there's nothing else going on. What gave you that idea?"

Ginny seemed deflated. "I don't know. My mind. Over thinking, I guess. And then I saw the way Charlie was teasing you at breakfast and I just assumed…"

"You assumed that your favourite brother knew that Draco and I were having an affair behind your back and that he was ok with it?" Harry felt brave enough to take a step forwards.

Ginny smiled a little.

"Yeah, that was pretty ridiculous." And then her smile dropped. "But you kissed him. Why? There must have been a pretext to this, you don't just go around kissing men for no reason."

Harry looked at the tear tracks that he was responsible for and he knew that this was not the time to mince words.

He sat down on the bed. "I wish I could say that there was more sense to it, but honestly, ever since he came out I just kept wondering. Or, well, thinking. Thinking about myself. Doing things without thinking. Wanting to be near him, I don't know." Well, he hadn't intended to mince words. Apparently there was no quick explanation here.

Ginny looked pissed off again. "So there was something going on. Don't fucking lie to me while you're trying to explain yourself, I don't deserve this shit."

"I know. I'm sorry. I guess I downplayed it. But really, nothing has happened. It's nothing more than Draco being Draco, and me being… curious, I guess. And I'm so sorry that I let it become anything more than that. Even if just for a few seconds."

Ginny's eyes had turned hard and watery, "I can't do this, Harry."

"I know, I'm sorry I put you in this position. But I promise I'll talk to Mrs Weasley today about moving our rooms around, I won't even speak to him any more. I love you."

Ginny shook her head and shuffled slightly away from him. "No. I really can't do this. I can't be with you if I know you're that attracted to another person. I'm not doing that to myself. I love you Harry, but I'm not going to put myself through another one of your weird mood swings or performance issues if there's even a possibility that it's related to Draco fucking Malfoy."

Harry found that his mouth was hanging open a little bit. His mind raced, searching for anything he could say to make this better and coming up blank.

"Please go." She said, her voice cracking with tears, eyes still shut.

"Gin, please."

Harry got up; his vision clouded with tears, and stumbled towards her. He held her face in one hand and leaned down to kiss her, but she turned her head so he only caught the corner of her mouth.

"Please. Ginny, please understand. I love you. I promise I won't speak to him, I'll never look at Dra-"

"Stop it." Ginny was almost sobbing; her eyes open again and fixed on Harry. "Don't do this to me. I'm not waiting around in the wings while you get whatever this is out of your system. This is fucked up enough, please just let it die."

"I'm not really in the habit of letting things die." He said bitterly, standing up from the bed.

He walked out of her room slowly, as though expecting her to call him back any second. He turned and faced her as he stepped over the threshold but she waved the door shut with a flick of her wand.

The cold of the landing was like a slap in the face.

She was gone. Really, actually gone.

Harry climbed the stairs to the room he shared with Draco, dragging his feet. Fucking Draco. Smarmy fucking Draco ferret-face, with his hair and his eyes and his stupid fucking smirks, coming in here and fucking with everything.

Harry's footsteps became less and less reluctant, more and more purposeful with every step. Bloody Draco, with his body and his cigarettes and his sarcasm, how fucking dare he?

He reached the door of his room and shoved it open, revealing a partially-dressed Draco lying on Harry's bed, reading one of Harry's books.

Harry's throat felt constricted. "Fucking ferret!" he yelled, and launched himself across the room. Draco, to his credit, did not look overly alarmed, just surprised. Harry landed on him in one flying leap and tried to hit as much of Draco as he could while still sort-of crying. Draco quite deftly caught and held Harry's wrists, then grabbed and rolled so that he was on top of a now more docile, mainly crying Harry.

"For Merlin's sake, Potter, there's no need to cry about it. I sleep in your bed most nights anyway when you're with the Weaslette and the book isn't even that good to begin with. Far too much conjecture."

At the mention of Ginny Harry became decidedly more distressed, and Draco didn't really have to guess why.

"Ah, the Weaslette. I see. Had a bit of a tiff, then? I don't doubt it's your fault, whatever it is. Say what you will about the girl but she's frustratingly good at being your girlfriend."

Harry stopped fighting. "Yes, it is my fucking fault. Also your fucking fault, but mostly mine. Would you let me go? I'm not going to punch you."

Draco slid off Harry, who in turn sat up.

"Potter, this may be an indelicate question given the circumstances, but why do you smell like me?"

Harry coughed a laugh. He'd forgotten about the morning's escapades with the shampoo. "Had an accident. Shampoo, er, explosion in the bathroom. It's ok though, cleaned it all up."

"I should hope so too. I had to bribe the twins quite significantly to get them to buy me that. It probably costs more than everything you're wearing." Draco sniffed and looked down at himself in disappointment. "Probably costs more than everything I'm wearing too, actually."

Incredibly, Harry found himself almost grinning. He couldn't remember Draco ever having this effect on him before. Maybe he was still in shock.

"Well, she broke up with me." Harry said uncomfortably.

"Because you kissed me?" Draco asked, unperturbed.

"Er, yeah. Among other things."

Thankfully, Draco seemed satisfied with this. "Oh well, all good things come to an end. Although I'm not sure that farce of a relationship could really be classed as a good-" Draco stopped talking at the look on Harry's face, which surprised both of them.

"Erm, anyway. I'm sure you'll both be alright and go on to live long and fruitful lives. There. Are you done bitching?"

Harry glowered at Draco "Not quite."

"Well maybe now you won't have to turn down Charlie when he begs you to kiss him at the breakfast table. Merlin, Potter, to be in your position."

Harry grimaced a little bit. "Yeah I don't think he'll be doing that for a while. I expect I'll be getting a bit of frostiness from all of the Weasleys for at least a few weeks."

Draco shrugged and picked up Harry's book again. "Oh well. More Charlie for me."

Harry couldn't explain it, the little shot of nausea that ran through his stomach when Draco said that. And, as, he couldn't explain it, he decided to simply write it off as coincidence.

The alternative was way, way too scary.


End file.
